


Growing

by MollyWeisser11



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Bipolar Disorder, Comfort Food, Consensual Kink, Consent, Eating, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fat - Freeform, Floor Sex, Food Kink, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Forbidden Forest, Forest Sex, Forests, Gay Sex, Heterosexual Sex, House Elves, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild S&M, Mind Rape, Multi, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Polyfidelity, Post-Canon, Sex, Sex Positive, Sex Toys, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Suicidal Thoughts, Technology at Hogwarts, Threesome - F/F/M, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Water Sex, Weight Gain, Weight Issues, binge eating, fat appreciation, fat!hermione, fat!snape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 10:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 102
Words: 299,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2063850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MollyWeisser11/pseuds/MollyWeisser11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione is getting a bit fat, and she's starting teaching at Hogwarts. Severus Snape is actually alive, and is coming back to do research at Hogwarts. And oh, he's gotten really fat himself. Post-DH, EWE. FAT KINK - FAT ADMIRATION - FAT APPRECIATION - DON'T LIKE DON'T READ - NO FLAMES PLEASE. SSHG romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. intro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note: This fic involves dark themes. It starts off fairly light, but verges into dark territory fairly swiftly. Themes include: first and foremost, fat kink. (e.g. erotic weight gain, intense feeding/stuffing as a part of sexual play, unrealistic eating, blatant disregard for health, and fat appreciation. Other themes that might be triggering include suicidal ideation, polyamory, mental illness, violation of mind, disordered eating, purposeful/nonchalant view on self-destruction, and more. However, in this fic, there is none of the following themes: male pregnancy, non-consensual gaining, abusive poly relationships, or suicide attempts.
> 
> If you found this fic through one of the flaming reviews that are scattered throughout the internet, like The Potter Sue... well, the reviews aren't wrong. If this isn't your kink, you will probably think this is an awful fanfic. So please, do yourself a favor and don't read it.
> 
> Characterization note: Characterization is subjective. For some people, this fic is a substantial deviation from the characters of the Harry Potter world. For others, I have written an accurate portrayal of these characters if they were thrust into this situation. Your mileage may vary - and that's OK! 
> 
> Note as regards to the tone of this fic: Initially this fic was intended to be a quickly-dashed-off conventional type of fic meant simply to execute a concept in as concise and formulaic an approach as possible. After around chapter 11 or so, I started getting into it in a different way - and it evolved into something much more serious. It becomes less a means to an end, and more an end in and of itself as the fic matured a bit in my brain. 
> 
> WARNING: The following fic is NOT intended for children under the age of 17. 
> 
> The stunts performed in this fic are done by fictional characters. Viewers are advised not to attempt any of the stunts portrayed in this fanfiction at home.

Hermione lay on her bed, feeling the conflicting feelings of guilt and pleasure - not just any pleasure, quite extensive pleasure.

Her belly was still growing bigger. Granted, it wasn't surprising given how much she'd been eating at the Great Hall lately, but still, the fact that her actions had tangible consequences was strangely refreshing. She felt guilt because - well, didn't everyone who put on a few feel guilty about it? But the pleasure...that was a different story.

Perhaps it was just because of her miserable experience in the ministry, where nothing she ever did made an impact irrespective of her hero status - misogyny prevented her influence from transcending from an era of war to an era of peace. Perhaps it was just because of her health-obsessed parents and their desire for their girl to have perfect teeth, perfect skin, and a perfect body. Perhaps it was just because she thought she was sexier this way, and loved the way every step she took made her little pot-belly and thickening thighs jiggle in an incredibly erotic way. Or perhaps it was all of these things.

In any case, Hermione found herself reflecting on these complicated feelings about her weight gain within the privacy of her new Hogwarts bedroom. As she contemplated this new home of hers - with its walls, painted a turquoise blue; its furnishings, old and comfortable, newly upholstered with silky velvet brocade; its living picture, a landscape reminiscent of Van Gogh's - all of it made her feel safe and comfortable.

Making this cozy domestic picture even more cozy, there was a gentle knock on the door.

"Come in," said Hermione, sitting up and straightening her robes.

Professor McGonagall - who else would it be, really? - stood outside, and she smiled faintly.

"Hermione. May I come in?"

"Of course!" exclaimed Hermione, and bustled to move some books out of her guest chair.

"Thank you," said Minerva once she was seated. "I trust your preparations are going well. Do you have any questions for me?"

"Not at the moment," said Hermione cheerfully. "I think you know I'm not afraid to ask when I do."

"I do indeed," said Minerva, "but it is my duty to ensure you know I am receptive."

"Thank you," said Hermione with a smile. "Care for a biscuit?"

"My, my," said Minerva, daintily. "Isn't everyone taking a leaf out of Albus' book. Every time I go to talk to someone, they order me to take a biscuit. My waistline can't stand that many biscuits."

"I'm sorry," said Hermione with a laugh, "if you prefer, I won't offer them to you, then."

"No, don't do that," said Minerva, "you'd better share them. Your own waistline can't stand that many more biscuits, from what I can see."

Hermione felt her hand, against her mind's will, move to her belly and grab the nice round muffin-top that had grown there the past several years.

And she shrugged, trying not to let it bother her. Honestly, the men at the ministry had been far worse about it. "Erm, sure. But let's keep it professional, shall we?"

Minerva, knowing she'd transgressed, backpedaled. "Yes. Of course. On that note," she went on, "I… I have some news that is not going to please you much."

"Oh," said Hermione, raising an eyebrow. "And what is that?"

"It's about… oh… well…" Minerva was clearly uncomfortable, and then with a deep breath she blurted out, "Severus Snape."

Hermione shrugged, but if you looked more deeply you would see that her eyes were wider, her lips parted just slightly, and her face slightly more tinged with worry. "What about him? I heard they had cleared his name. Poor man. I'll never regret anything more than I did letting him die like that."

"Yes," said Minerva, fretfully. "About that. The fact of the matter is, he isn't really dead."

"What?" exclaimed Hermione with a rush of anger and confusion leaping into her face. "Not dead? What do you mean? Are you saying he had some sort of…"

And even then, she began to piece together the truth - she'd seen Severus grasping at his lapel at some point during his...experience… and she'd not paid it any attention at the time, being too paralyzed with fear to really think about what to do.

Oh, who was she kidding. She had only been grappling with the question of whether or not she should let him die. She'd had an antidote to Nagini's poison on her person constantly for months, one of many crafts she'd made in the woods with Harry's help. With a dark lord on the loose, carrying a pet snake like that, it'd be only a fool who'd not keep some emergency kit for the eventuality that something would happen.

And, of course, there was the solution - Severus wasn't a fool, same as her. And he'd also had a potion ready and waiting for once she and Harry left the room.

She sighed. "So where's he been all these years?"

Minerva shook her head. "That I'm not really allowed to tell you much about. In fact, there's not much I know for sure. However, given his recent clear of recognition, he decided to come out of the woodwork and take up potions again."

Hermione's look of horror was all too telling, and Minerva laughed.

"Of course, my dear, he's not going to take your job. He's always hated teaching, as I'm sure you might guess. He's going to come back in a research capacity. He spent most of his time away from our world, apparently, devising some healing potions of some nature. And he's got some papers published. He wants Hogwarts to revive the old academic conferences, which was something he and Albus were always banging heads about. I see no reason not to, given the right circumstances."

Hermione sighed. "That actually sounds perfect for him."

Minerva nodded. "That's what I think. I'd never let him come back to teach. Albus was a dunce about that one. If you're going to have a double agent on your staff, don't saddle him with the full responsibilities of teaching as well. No wonder the poor man was always so irascible. He was performing two overworked, underpaid jobs for the price of one. And he hated both of them."

Hermione had never thought about that before, and she was somewhat surprised that Minerva was being so charitable when just years ago Minerva felt so betrayed by Severus' apparent defection.

She held her tongue, however.

"So I'll still be teaching my classes the way I want to," she said satisfied. "Fine, that's all I care about."

"Is it?" asked Minerva, and Hermione immediately rolled her eyes.

"God, Minerva, don't you dare."

"I do indeed dare, it's one of the finer points of being nearly a century old - it doesn't matter if I dare or do not dare, so when I feel like it, I dare!" said Minerva with a Dumbledore-esque twinkle. "So, I just want to make sure that things will not be… uncomfortable… between you and Severus."

"Oh, come on," said Hermione, and she threw herself down flat on the bed. "This was a schoolgirl crush. Nothing more. Can't you just let it go?"

"I believe," Minerva said, with a dull smile, "that you're not going to persuade me that it's 'nothing more' by acting like a spoilt toddler, Hermione."

"Well," said Hermione flatly, "I don't know what you expect me to say. I was attracted to him when I was a schoolgirl. Before I'd ever even had sex, Minerva. And since, I've barely even thought of him. Don't you dare tell me that you expect I'll go silly the moment he turns up."

(She winced when she realized she'd said barely even thought of him. Oops. Way to hide your old unresolved feelings effectively, Hermione!)

And Minerva, having made her point, got up to leave. "Anyways," she said, standing, "just thought I'd let you know right away. Forgive me," she added as she bustled towards the door, "I should admit, Hermione, that I've known he was alive and returning for some time now. I delayed so long in telling you because I just couldn't stand to see you run away because an unpleasant old face showed up again."

"So you waited until my syllabi were all drawn up and confirmed," said Hermione with a dashing smile. "Very well, Minerva. I think that was prudent, but please know it shouldn't have caused you any worry. I'm an adult, and as long as he behaves himself, I'm sure we'll get along just fine. Thank you for the chat, see you at lunch."

"My pleasure," said Minerva, "and thanks for the biscuit. But please, dear, don't eat anymore yourself - you don't need them."

"See you later," said Hermione blandly. And as soon as the door clicked shut, she picked up a biscuit right then and there and began eating it with relish.

She wasn't precisely pleased to see Severus, but it sounded like he had got his act together, and wanted to get some activities that would benefit both her and their profession well. She could at least be supportive.

 

* * *

Several readers in later chapters have mentioned they're put off by the dimensions of Hermione. I should mention that I have indeed put scrupulous thought into this, and my Hermione is literally only 5'0 tall, so if her weights and measures appear a bit off, it's likely because you're comparing her measures with your own, and most people reading this fic are taller and have a lower body fat percentage. Even a few inches of height can make or break being fat vs. merely chubby. Also, if you're looking at your own weights and measures as a comparison, and you work out, chances are a proportion of your pounds are actually muscle - Hermione's body fat percentage, however, is quite high because she doesn't work out at all in this fic. (Again, see: strongblatant disregard for health /strongas a content note for this fic.)

One livejournaler summarized concisely many of the objections that many people have about this fic. "The word fat is a derogatory term, and there are other terms which are better used to describe women in the plus sizes then fat. Glorifying any kind of unhealthy behavior is wrong. This is no different then using cutting, anorexia or bulemia as ones kink." Let's unpack this a second.

 **My choice to use the term "fat" is an act of reclaiming a word that has been used to oppress, shame, and stigmatize people of size.** Some people object to the choice of using the word 'queer' when they mean gay/lesbian/bi+, but in the same sense, my attempt is to reclaim the word and use it in a more value-neutral way. Or even a positive way! Wow!

Re: "Glorifying any unhealthy behavior is wrong:" I will be the first to concede that this fic is a celebration of hedonism, hedonism that often comes at the expense of health. This is *not* exactly the same as bulimia and anorexia, since with those diseases there's a chance of immediate mortality associated with starvation and binge/purge behaviors. Instead, there's a chance of long-term mortality associated with binge eating as described in this fic. I make no claims otherwise, and neither do the characters. There is some self-destructive content involved in the characters' development as this fic progresses. Far from celebrating this, I do this in an attempt to humanize the struggle. This is where my fic diverges from most fiction in the genre of weight gain and kink, which frequently hand-wave health issues away. For what it's worth, I think most mature practitioners of this kink recognize and acknowledge the health issues associated with this kink. Same as something like self-asphyxiation, however, part of the reason that it's a kink and not a commonly accepted mating practice is because of the non-normative elements such as self-destructive tendencies. So criticizing the lack of healthiness of this kink is, well, silly. It's a kink. It's not supposed to be healthy. To some extent, that's why it's a kink. (Not all kinks are unhealthy, I need to note! But many of them can be perceived that way.) **This is a story about people with a self-destructive, potentially life-threatening kink (erotic weight gain) who are learning how to manage it, together, and live the best lives they can despite it.**

I do take umbrage at this same livejournaler, who also said, "And the writer decided to also change the fact Severus died just so they can get their kink fix." Puh-lease, plenty of people do this, and many with significantly poorer justification than I provide in this story. FWIW, there's a community on I saw once called "Severus Snape Survival Stories." Hasn't been updated in forever, but it's evidence that some people specifically like this stuff. I personally seek it out - I like for Snape to have a better ending than canon gave him, despite all his abusiveness and other flaws. (Which I've significantly toned down and explained in this fic.) So there. Hmph.


	2. Sussing each other out

Hermione was, despite herself, and despite her disavowals to McGobagal, eager to see her old professor. Perhaps it was just because she had left him on such a regretful note. Perhaps it just was the fact that she was eager to see him in a new light - as a colleague, a fellow potions specialist. Perhaps it was just out of reminiscence - she remembered he was a world-class asshole, but somehow she felt like he couldn't have been that bad. It was somewhat endearing, as far as she remembered. (And, honestly, she commisserated with his frustration with dunderheads.) Of course, she told herself, it was *not* because of her (former!) crush on him. Such would be silly.

The day he was slated to arrive, she was disappointed not to see him. He was not at lunch, breakfast, or dinner. The next day was the same - no sight of him.

With a week before the start of term, she was beginning to despair of seeing him at all, much less getting to talk with him. In her state of worry, she automatically assumed that once term started, she'd never see him - and thus her only chance to convene with him was during this first week.

Then, the third day, she was early to the Great Hall for breakfast. Only Pomona Sprout and Madam Hooch were there, keeping their covert romantic breakfast-dates as they'd been doing for the past fifty years, so they could hold hands without attracting the less mature students' attention.

But someone was there who wasn't supposed to be there - an unfamiliar figure doing its best to slink in and out of the hall unnoticed with a plate piled high with food, and pockets bulging besides.

Hermione was incredulous as she watched the rotund and truly fat Professor Snape - previously the svelte and lithe Professor Snape - debate between two flavors of pastry, considering them both equally, with a forefinger on his pursed lips. Unable to decide, he grabbed them both and shoved them in his pocket. Then, for good measure, he grabbed an extra and took a bite out of it right then and there.

And then, feeling eyes on him, he turned. And - despite all past empirical evidence that he was as cold blooded a fish as any that had ever walked the halls of Hogwarts - he blushed furiously red.

But as was his talent, he suppressed his mortification as soon as it began to show, and as he was singularly capable, he completely reversed the situation to make it appear that it was Hermione who had been embarrassed, not him.

"Miss Granger," he said, as if she were an uninteresting speck of porridge on the floor, "I heard you would be here on staff." His voice was even deeper than she remembered it, and it rumbled out of him powerfully, like a burst of highly-pressured water coming out of a mess of old pipes.

"Many congratulations to you. You've discovered the world is too harsh a place for your fragile ego and you've come back to Hogwarts to console yourself amongst the familiarity of books and learning. I'm frankly surprised that you did not take on the role of second-wind student before now; it seems your naïveté was worse than I imagined." With that, he took a few wolfish bites of his pastry, as if daring her to comment on his choice of breakfast.

Any illusions that Hermione had had regarding her old professor came crashing down at this moment. Yes. He really was more awful than she remembered. And no, he was not going to be kinder to her as a teacher than she was a student.

And yes, his words stung because he was right, at least in respect to her naïveté. (She should have known better than to try and change the world.)

"Good morning to you too, you old grump," she said with a flash of nervousness. Granted, she wished she could be more venomous, that she could compete with him in a battle of cruel wits - but he had years of practice, and she was genuinely kind of heart, if resentful at times.

Still, even this small retaliation brought forth a combination of fear and exhileration. It was a fascinating and strange feeling to be disrespectful to a professor - much less Severus Snape.

He glared at her sternly. But she didn't feed into his haughty attitude - he was giving her just enough rope to hang herself, and she wasn't interested.

Overall, she was just disappointed.

As he seemed to be waiting for her to say something else, she decided she wasn't going to bother postponing her breakfast any longer. She turned her back, flounced over to the table, and sat herself down smack in the center - the place she could be concurrently farthest from Pomona and Rolanda, as well as Snape.

Snape appeared mildly surprised. For a moment, he focused again on the pastries on the table in front of him, then looked torn between escaping and continuing to needle her. Given the innate bully that he was, he opted for the latter.

He scooped up another pastry and sat down at the table directly next to her, going significantly out of his way. Which in and of itself was strange, Hermione noted. It looked like he was indeed planning to talk to her. Though heaven knew why!

"So," she said helping herself to a serving of scrambled eggs that was fully intended to satiate her until lunch, "You're doing research."

"Yes," he responded, as if he was trying to decide if she were testing him.

"I'm honestly glad," she said, pointedly not making eye contact. "You didn't seem to enjoy teaching. Either that, or you enjoyed it too much."

His stomach audibly gurgled by way of an answer, and he very carefully pulled a small vial of what looked to be antacid pills out of his sleeve, poured three into his hand, and then took them dry, clapping his hand to his mouth carelessly.

"Sure," he said, by way of response to what she said. He still sounded hesitant, as if he was expecting her to say something sharp to him.

She tried to take a bite of her eggs, but couldn't stomach them until she got the obvious elephant out of the room. Without looking up, she began. "I… I must tell you," she said awkwardly, "I'm… I'm really sorry I didn't try to do something when I saw you last."

And she couldn't look up at him. So she kept staring at her eggs, stirring some clumps them in the scattered salt she'd put on the side of her plate.

"Well." Snape sounded mollified, if not somewhat amused. "Given what you knew, it seems unsporting to have expected anything else from you. Moreover," and now he sounded genuinely curious, "what on earth could you have done?"

Hermione shrugged.

"I had a potion on me that would have, at least I thought at the time, worked against the poison in your system."

"What was its composition?" His tone was crisp, objective. She felt immediately as if she were a teenager back in his potions class.

"Brown ochre as a platelet tag, willow bark as a blood thinner, syrlinase as a toxin absorbtion inhibitor, microsilicone as a conduit, essence of bezoar as an agent, paraffin as a preservative, bound by arithmantic spells that I adapted from the Apparentless Lesion potion."

She looked up, automatically searching his face for his begrudging approval.

He merely kept one eyebrow raised, expectantly.

"And I know now, it wouldn't have worked," she said, head sinking. "I figured out a few years ago - this would have worked well for an emergency anti-lycanthropy potion, with the addition of wolfsbane and balancing the dynads accordingly, but of course it wouldn't have helped with a reptile's venom. In my defense, I came up with this hodgepodge brew with inadequate resources: all I had were two books with any notes on venoms and toxins, and one had an extensive section on mammalian rabies and similarly transmitted diseases, and other was a book on spiders."

Snape just looked at her with the same curious, smirking gaze, which made Hermione feel like she had just failed.

Therefore, she was floored when he said, "And this is why we need honors-level courses at this institution. It baffles my mind, to this day, why Albus thought it was remotely appropriate, from a basic educational point of view, to let someone like you struggle to remain engaged and interested in a class dumbed down to meet the needs of someone like Potter. I tried to teach to the median of the class - but when the median was so unclear, it was all I could do to keep you all from exploding yourselves every day."

He sighed, and visibly let his guard down, his shoulders slouching and his belly's rolls pooching in front of him as his posture loosened. "Fortunately, Minerva won't stand for that kind of nonsense. Nor will you, I hope. I am confident that between the two of you, Hogwarts will regain its standing as an institution of actual repute."

He took a bite of the rashers and kidneys from his plate, then tidily dabbed the corner of his mouth. "Then again," he said, thoughtfully, "perhaps Hogwarts' reputation was all a grand illusion from the start, if the likes of Albus Dumbledore was allowed to remain in power as long as he did."

"Oh," Hermione said, catching her bearings. She was still reeling at the fact that Professor Snape thought she was honors-level material. "Well, as it happens, I did some research about that. Turns out he was breaking all sorts of codes, coaxing loopholes around him and such. Nothing he was doing was anything more than technically legal by the letter of the laws set down by the founders. After all, how could he be in accordance with their values with such an autocratic reign as his was? Traditionally, there's supposed to be at least two head-masters at any given time, though in the times of greatest economic bounty, the ideal was to have four, one for each house, with no single person sewing together their differences."

"Hm," Snape said, taking a few more careful, slow bites of his food, as if he was afraid she was going to take it away if he ate too fast. "I did not know this. I can't even imagine what that would have been like. Where'd you learn that?"

"Restricted section," said Hermione glibly. "There was all sorts of reading banned at a whim by Dumbledore. It's pretty sickening, really, how much he relied on ignorance to reinforce his strictures."

"In almost every way," Snape said blandly, "he was a sick, sick man."

Their eyes met in intense agreement.

"On my part, I… I can't even imagine what it must have been like, to be emotionally manipulated by him for so many years," said Hermione softly, without realizing what she was saying.

Snape's face grew dark, and he stabbed pointedly at a bite of kidney.

"On my part," he snapped back, "I can't even imagine what it must be like to live a normal life where the rest of world doesn't know my secrets."

"I- I'm sorry," said Hermione, backpedaling immediately.

"Moreover," Snape went on, his face curled into a snarl, "I can't even imagine what it have been like to have been the best friend of Harry Potter, the petulant arse who wasn't supposed to live past his usefulness as a pawn in Albus' great drama for the greater good."

With this, Hermione stood up, grabbing her plate. "And this is my cue to leave. Goodbye. Enjoy your miserable bitter life."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Stop being indignant. When's the last time he even called you?"

Hermione bit her lip. She didn't even remember herself. Was it a few months? A few years?

"What does it matter to you?" she responded hotly. "I prefer the friend who thinks fondly of me but sucks at keeping in touch to my ex-professor who can't respect one of the nation's greatest heroes - who also just happens to be my closest friend."

He looked at her, and laughed sadly.

"Well then. I guess that's fair." He began to pick at his food, and again his stomach rumbled.

Hermione decided to sit down again. "Why aren't you eating?" she asked, frowning. "It's going to get cold."

He turned and gave her a dead-on look. "Seriously?" he asked, clearly incredulous that she would encourage him to eat.

She stared back at him, unfazed. "You're obviously hungry. Don't hold back on my account. Far be it for me to judge you."

Casting a side-glance at her, he proceeded to eat, though conservatively. Hermione could tell he lusted after another plate or two. Heaven knows she herself was hungry enough for a second serving.

Deciding that, in fact, she'd go ahead and get that second serving, she stood and made a gesture towards his plate. "Want me to spoon you some more?"

Snape muttered, "I've heard that one before," under his breath, which made Hermione almost drop her plate with a giggle.

He didn't actually answer for a moment, as he seemed to survey the damage on her plate, the expanding pudge at her middle, and the amount of food left at the staff serving-table.

Then, with a nod, he pushed his empty plate towards her. "No potatoes," he said, by way of instruction.

Hermione, feeling gratified - as though somehow she'd been allowed entrance into some deep secret place in his mind - went and served him several generous scoops of everything there was on the table, with a couple extra pastries on the side.

He didn't say anything other than a grunted, "Thanks," when she brought it back, but she saw he attacked it ravenously, and once in a while as he ate, he cast her a mysterious glance - whether it was one of appreciation or disgust, she could not tell.

Of course, she was also watching him as she was eating. It was hard to keep her fingers attached to her fork and knife, away from the succulent love-handles that he'd grown, the ponderous overhang that spilled over his trousers, and the thick double-chin that threatened towards a third. It was even harder to keep her eyes away from his bulging stomach, with its growing folds and ripples that wiggled seductively every time he leaned forward to take a big bite of pastry over his plate.

She ate, he ate, and they covertly looked at each other.

Then, just as suddenly as they'd begun their conversation, they left the Great Hall, headed their separate ways.


	3. three visions, unsolicited

She didn't see him again for over a week, though truly she was not trying to find him. She had plenty on her mind aside from the strange new changes to her ex-professor.

Unlike some gifted folks, Hermione was a genuinely good teacher, and she used her prep time to its fullest advantage. Not to mention having a time-turner again made her dizzy with delight - of course she'd known that all the teachers had one - how else could they teach so many sections each? - but she was only beginning to appreciate the use of one as a professor.

And as she dashed around completing tasks, she found herself gaining weight at an alarming rate. Almost every other real-life day - which given her heavy turner usage was the equivalent of nearly 36 hours - she felt her body a little different. Usually it was softer, or the accumulating fat had shifted somewhat. Overall she felt increasingly satisfied with herself - she was working hard, engaged, excited, and happy. And with every added ounce, she felt like it was just that much more evidence of her incredibly comfortable and enjoyable life.

And other people were noticing.

She didn't see Snape for nearly a week in real life, possibly because, in Hermione's opinion, he had rendered himself slightly too vulnerable in their last conversation. In her mind, he was deeper than he let on, and while she felt complicated feelings about him - specifically regarding how much of an asshole he was - she found herself retracing her old, convoluted, matted thoughts that his bite must be a protective effort to prevent his soft underbelly from being exposed and violated.

Though, granted, that metaphor was particularly apt these days.

She next encountered him in the great hall, as last time she had seen him, he was doing the same thing as before, filling his plate and pockets and looking like he was ready to dash.

"Miss Granger," he said, his mouth crawling into an intimidating smile. (He seemed to be doing this particular gesture a lot lately , Hermione realized. Snape smiling in any capacity was odd.)

"How are you finding the time turning life?" asked Snape when she saw him next. He was grinning at her in a predatory manner as she helped herself to what was effectively her third breakfast of the day (though her body was craving dinner).

"Completely enjoyable," said Hermione, settling down and helping herself to generous portions. "Though annoying that I can't come downstairs and see your pretty face for breakfast three times over. I don't like eating in my office alone. But you know the story. Quantum mechanics and all that."

"Ah ," said Snape with a smile that said he knew full well she didn't think his face pretty, but he was going to hold her to her words someday. He also was clearly unsure whether or not he intended to sit with her.

She made the choice easier by patting the place at the table next to her. "Join me?"

He gave a horselike grunt and sat with her. She particularly enjoyed the view of him spreading his legs wide enough to accommodate his belly, so that he could successfully stuff his stomach under the table.

"So why is that," he asked, noncommittally, "why don't you like eating in your office alone?"

She knew the reasons well, of course, but she was figuring out that interacting with Snape was a kind of art form.

Therefore instead of launching into an enthusiastic analysis, she shrugged with affected ennui. "I count meals as social time. When I can't, it means that I'm not getting that needed boost of social energy."

"I see." He pursed his lips and said nothing else, just analyzing her.

"So tell me," Hermione said, feeling like talking to him was like pulling teeth, "do you use the time turner these days?"

"Never," he answered, in a slow drawl. "At least not in my dotage. No need to, after all. Experiments and explosions, they rush for no person."

"Wouldn't you still be able to use them," Hermione said brightly, "for when you're writing on a deadline? I certainly like that flexibility."

Snape shrugged. "Honestly," he said with a scowl, "I just don't enjoy using time turners. They always make me feel like I'm going to chuck my bile on the head of the next poor sod who cuts me off in the hallway. Thus they thoroughly take away my appetite."

This was another subtle little test, and Hermione could tell, because he seemed to be daring her to riff off of his weight. He stared at her with the audacity of a London rat that had been caught in a pantry. So what, he seemed to say, you're the fool in this situation. I'm perfectly at peace with what I am - how this conversation goes is entirely on you .

And while Hermione was not sure how she would react to a rat in her pantry, staring her down, she was not repulsed by Snape and his diehard attitude.

Instead of turning his weight into the joke he seemed to expect, she said, congenially, "So that's why you used to be so skinny, then."

He seemed inordinately pleased at this response. "Yes and no," he said with more congeniality than she could have guessed he would reciprocate, "I've always eaten a lot, except when I used the time turner. It's just my metabolism that's caught up to me."

"Well, I guess I'm suffering the same fate," Hermione said, struggling not to blush.

"How strange," Snape said, sounding bored. "I assumed women were a monolithic group who could only be thin by starving themselves or something."

"Some, I guess," Hermione said, not sure if he was serious or not. "Maybe I'm different, but I never starved myself."

"Hoo fucking ray," he responded, but his bite was not as frosty as usual. "Now tell me," he said, appearing thoroughly fatigued of the conversation, "Is your curiosity surrounding my ample size subdued to a more decent level, or are we going to have to keep chit-chatting about it all day?"

What a strange question. Startled, Hermione turned her head and found herself meeting Severus face to face - how he'd got himself in that position so soundlessly, she had no idea. But either way, she felt her most recent thoughts swimming to the surface of her mind - oh no!

Feeling her face grow hot, she saw the swarm of thoughts that had sprung to mind the moment he asked about the state of her curiosity.

And oh - these were dirty thoughts.

She had three involuntary fantasies that had come to mind. First, she'd had the fantasy of shoving him back in his chair, ripping off his pants, and sucking him dry right there in the Great Hall. She saw herself on her knees, tucking her fingers under the folds of his magnificent belly and grabbing it by the sides, putting her lips on his plump throbbing member. She saw him rear back in ecstasy, his face taut and hot as his body contracted and flexed with pleasure. She saw herself stroke his belly and cover his member with a liberal amount of sweet rosehip jam, which she licked off with pleasure.

The second scenario involved her plump body, bare on the table, and Severus in an authoritative position, efficiently gathering ingredients while keeping her clit tightly squeezed between two of his meaty, strong fingers. Then he began to feed her, bite after bite of rich corn bread stuffing, giving her a delightful squeeze of pleasure every time she swallowed. This meant that she was constantly on the edge of coming, but never quite there, no matter how fast she ate. And once it seemed she had eaten every bite she could fit into her body, he gathered salts, spices, and oils and began to massage her great fat belly and every other spot of skin on her body, as if preparing her to be shoved in an oven. He also put an apple in her mouth, which she could suck the juice of. She moaned with pleasure at these sensations until he finally disrobed himself and began to fuck her, and she was stuffed in every conceivable way, doing her best to not scream with pleasure (lest she lose the apple).

And then there was the coup de gras - Hermione imagined herself a hundred pounds fatter, her body jiggling with every movement, and Severus was licking her cunt, flowery-white with whipped cream and syrup, as she ate grapes and chocolate-covered berries. She was reading aloud from a book of incredibly sexy literature. A relatively famous book of gay literature, as it happened, about two fat men eating and fucking each other while reading, a la Tristan and Isolde. (In short, fucking and eating while reading about another couple fucking and eating that was reading about another couple fucking and eating). And somehow this seemed to intrigue them both so much that Hermione had to put the book down, and Severus fucked her as she lay there on the couch, both of them sweating with the effort but pleased by the end of it.

All of these were conveyed in the blink of an eye, and Snape seemed both fascinated and repulsed by what he'd found.

"How utterly complex," Severus the non-fantasy person said, and stared into Hermione's eyes with a strange fire of passion that she'd only seen in movies.

It seemed like he was about to kiss her. And Hermione probably would have kissed him back, if he had.

But as the fog of desire drained away, she realized what had just happened, and she dropped her fork.

"That," she said breathlessly, "that was not okay."

"You seem pretty okay to me," said Snape cooly, going back to his food with measured caution.

"No," she said, and she stood. "That was not okay, Severus Snape. That was not okay. Bad man." She said this as if she were scolding a dog - but she didn't really know how else to convey the seriousness of the situation to him. She knew Snape had a habit of violating peoples' minds - at least Harry's - but she didn't think he would do this with a colleague.

She had the sinking feeling that, no, he just didn't see her as his colleague. He saw her as an upstart trying desperately to justify her existence to a world that was neutral towards her.

Hadn't he said as much the other day?

With that, she collected her bag and raced out of the Great Hall.

She didn't know what he thought he was, but he wasn't going to be able to get away with this.


	4. stonewalled by mcgonagall

Predictably, Hermione was not hungry any more. She found herself in McGonagall's office, and her emotions were wavering between righteous anger and blubbery sobs.

McGonagall's response was to reluctantly push Albus' old bowl of lemon drops towards Hermione. Despite what she knew about Dumbledore's unfortunate two-faced decision-making, she still felt a fondness for him swell up as she contemplated the bowl, then took two drops and put them in her mouth.

"I suppose I understand why Albus kept these," McGonagall said with some distaste. "It saves one the trouble of getting up and offering someone a hug."

"I guess you haven't figured out how to get rid of them, it seems," Hermione said, taking a deep breath while sucking on the drops.

"No chance," said the headmistress with a sigh. "They seem to never end. Even when I had Neville in here the other day, and he stuffed himself silly with them out of nervousness - I could swear he ate a gallon of them, and yet the supply never grew small."

"Wait," Hermione said, finding herself smiling despite what had just happened downstairs. "Is Neville joining the staff?"

"Yes," said McGonagall, "though heaven knows why I hired him. I swear, if his grandmother didn't frighten me so much, I probably wouldn't have even seen him for an interview."

Hermione laughed. "He's a Hufflepuff at heart," she said, "so at least he'll be hardworking and helpful."

"So it would seem," said McGonagall dryly. Then she went on, standing to play around with the potted plants she'd been letting take over her office, "now that you're a bit more composed - what happened with Severus?"

"He - used legilimency on me," said Hermione, her voice dropping low in a confused mix of shame and anger at Snape.

"Explain." McGonagall was impassive.

"I mean," Hermione said, trying to stand up for herself, "we were talking, and he asked me suddenly a fairly inappropriate question, and he was suddenly looking into my eyes, and he saw a bunch of very - very private thoughts. And when I told him that he could not do that, he told me that I looked like I had enjoyed it, and dismissed me. So I came up here. So," she said, feeling a bit breathless, "that's what happened."

"I see," said McGonagall, thinking for a moment. Then, leaning primly forward, she asked, "So what was it that you were talking about?"

Hermione felt her face flush a thousand times over. She wasn't about to tell her mentor - and the person she respected most in the world - what they'd been talking about, at least she wasn't going to tell without thinking about it for a moment.

"Well," she said, stalling and gathering her thoughts, "erm."

"Was it sexual?" asked McGonagall without an inch of sympathy.

"Erm," Hermione said, and tried to think back to the moment. It certainly had felt sexual by that point, but whether or not this was because of what was actually said or the feeling of the conversation, she couldn't tell.

"In that case," said McGonagall, not bothering to wait for Hermione's explanation, "I don't see what you're making such a big fuss about. Just take it as a compliment, if you're not happy about it. Or else just go and lay with him already. It's not like you're both teenagers. I've got better things to do than arbitrate your petty squabbles."

Hermione's respect for McGonagall sunk instantly. "But… but it's an issue of consent," she moaned, wringing her hands. "It was a violation of my privacy. Of my mind. And he doesn't seem to care. How on earth am I supposed to take that as a compliment?"

McGonagall sighed with aggravation, picked up a stack of papers, thrust them in Hermione's hands, and ordered, "If you must make a fuss about this, you can fill out this paperwork, and we will proceed as laid out in the staff manual."

Hermione took the papers and said nothing, not sure what to do at this point.

McGonagall stared at her. "Now, unless there's something else you've got to tell me," she said with an air of closing the conversation, "Please do go find something else to do. Someone I know submitted a thirty-page syllabus and I'm only at page five."

There was a twinkle in her eye - of course Hermione was the one who had submitted said syllabus - and Hermione momentarily found herself outside the office.

Sobered, she went back to the dining hall. It was clear that McGonagall was not going to be her ally for this fight.

She'd have to do this on her own.


	5. snape's apology

Hermione looked at the stack of papers on her bureau bleakly. The experience of being shot down so readily by McGonagall - who truly should have known better - made her feel absolutely crummy. A week after the incident, she was still hurt by the incident, and found herself taking to her bed as soon as she could after work. She wasn't using the time-turner much anymore, aside from when absolutely necessary to teach her classes at the same time. She also was barely eating.

Eating was, for her, fundamentally a symptom of enjoying her life. At this time, she simply wasn't able to enjoy it.

She was angry and resentful towards Snape for feeling like he was entitled to look into her mind when he pleased to. She was angry that she'd let him get close enough to her to steal into her mind like he had. She felt angry that she felt guilty for making a big deal out of something that shouldn't, apparently, be a big deal.

But most of all, she felt angry because this sort of thing was *exactly* why she had left the Ministry and come back to Hogwarts in the first place.

Not to bore you with a long story - suffice it to say that Hermione had been the recipient of unsolicited legilimency more than once during her time at the ministry. Amongst the more skilled wizards - because this truly was a male wizard thing, not a female witch thing - she'd been forced to submit her mind over and over for 'mind clearing' checks and similar arbitrary experiences on the parts of her surperiors.

One particularly traumatizing set of events was when she was passed over for a deserved promotion, and the man who had formerly been her intern became her boss. While Frederick had been incredibly sweet as an intern, as her boss he was a nightmare. And he demanded that Hermione regularly give him entry to her mind as a way of ensuring that she wasn't planning to seduce him and take back the seat of power she'd had over him. (As if she cared that much.) As part of his unfortunate delusional complex, he'd dominated her thoroughly, without her consent, starting with small things, and finally taking her mind and forcing her to accept his doing as many horrible things to it as he could think of.

She'd initially submitted to it out of a desire to maintain her position and keep doing the good things she was doing in the public advocate's office. But finally, she realized she wasn't doing as good of work as she used to do, she was dispirited, and too unhappy to do a good job. Realizing that she didn't need to submit herself to his abuse, she quit.

She hadn't described what had happened to McGonagall when she came knocking at Hogwarts' door for a position - after all, she was trying to make a good impression - and since her hiring, she'd never bothered to clarify what had happened at the Ministry of Magic that had made her leave.

She hadn't felt like she needed to worry about this kind of thing happening here. But here it was, starting all over again.

Men. She hated them. And she hated that McGonagall - who could have disciplined Snape - wouldn't even acknowledge his trespass.

She was absolutely irate. Partially her anger was directed at herself, for having stuck with Frederick and his shenanigans for so long. But also, she was angry at Snape, and she knew she could do something about it, now, so she was going to. At least she would try.

But for the moment, it was easier to take a step back from the situation and self-medicate by taking herself to bed every day, wrapping herself in warm blankets, and sometimes screaming, sometimes crying.

In truth, she hadn't ever given herself time to mourn and grieve for what had happened at the Ministry - she'd never gotten a chance to allow herself to feel the pain of being violated like she had been by Frederick, to allow herself the space to cry about having lost her dreams and visions of doing good for the downtrodden of the world, to allow herself to refresh and relax and be comforted by the things around her.

No, she hadn't had a chance to process what had happened at the Ministry, not really. She'd lept from one job into a feverish search for another job, then jumped headfirst into this job. There'd been no time to process her experiences.

And now, she was finding that all her effort to suppress her feelings were catching up to her. It was immensely more painful than it should have been, but then again, she didn't exactly have any support in the situation.

She did think about calling Harry, but knew that Ginny would do her best to block her husband from speaking with Hermione. And Ron... well, how did one talk with the former-boyfriend-who-you-pretended-to-have-dumped-but-who-actually-had-dumped-you about one's deeper life issues? Ron had to deal with a family that judged every move he made, and she'd been happy to take the blow for him, since she knew they'd never give him peace if it was revealed that he had dumped Hermione.

Anyhow. Here she was, fairly isolated and alone. What could she do?

Well, for the moment, she slept.

Until one night, as she was curled up on her couch under the fluffiest blanket in her flat, there was a knock on her door.

Of course, she knew it was Minerva. "Just a moment," she called, pulling her blankets awkwardly, sloppily around her and treading to the door. She wasn't wearing anything more than underwear underneath, but then again, it as nearly midnight on a weeknight, and Hermione felt like she had the perfect right to be wearing nightclothes if she chose.

Well. As you might guess, she regretted it as soon as she opened the door.

Severus Snape stood there, looking practically crestfallen. His brow was furrowed and his face was taut.

"Miss Granger." He seemed afraid to even look at her, dressed scantily as she was, and he cast his eyes to the floor.

"Erm. Hi." Hermione wondered where on earth all her feelings of anger had gone. As she regarded her former professor, she no longer felt the burning pinch of anger in her upper gut that she'd been growing for the past week. Instead, she felt - well, strangely, she felt like she wanted to invite him in for a cuppa. "Erm. What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to speak with you," he said, clearly ashamed. "Do you have a moment?"

"Sure," she said, despite herself, "come in, please. There's... erm... hold on a moment."

She went to her ice-box and pulled out a package of biscuits that hadn't been opened yet. They were chocolate sponge biscuits with raspberry inside, and they were cool to the touch.

She picked up a pitcher of milk left over from her dinner - she'd eaten upstairs this evening, to avoid meeting her time-turner counterpart downstairs - and brought two cups into the living room. Then she seated herself on the sofa. Snape had settled himself into her big comfortable armchair, and he was idly skimming the pages of the book she'd left between its cushions.

"A brief history of rape," he read the title carefully, then put the book respectfully on the side table. He looked even more admonished than when he'd first walked in.

Hermione didn't know how to respond, so she merely pushed the pitcher of milk, the plate of biscuits, and the cup in his direction.

"Please," she said, as he looked hesitantly at them.

With a look of feeling somewhat relieved, though still uncomfortable, Snape poured himself a glass of milk, took a biscuit, tossed it in his mouth, and washed it down with the grim determination of a warrior fortifying himself for battle.

"So, *colleague,*" Hermione said, a fierce note in her voice, "What can I do for you this evening?"

He looked even more chastened than before. "I believe I owe you an apology," he said slowly.

"For what?" asked Hermione, not because she didn't know, but because there was a certain satisfaction in hearing him say it.

"For... for taking advantage of you when you were defenseless," said Snape, and he stared down at his giant belly with more sadness than Hermione thought could exist in the world. (For the record: she noticed it was bigger than when she'd last seen him. Not much, but visibly.)

He added, "I don't expect you to forgive me," he said, not looking at her, "particularly since it took me this long to get my sodding arse up here to apologize. But if you could do me the honor of listening, I'd like to provide some small explanation - not as an excuse, since what I did was truly inexcusable, but so that you can understand my half of the situation."

Hermione sat there, and only realized that he'd been intending for her to respond when he looked up at her, fear in his face that she wasn't going to forgive him. And she said, uncomfortably, "Oh, erm, carry on then."

He sighed. "I just want to stress to you how strange it's been, coming back into the wizarding world. I don't know if you knew this, but I spent the entire time I was out of the world, I lived and breathed life as a Muggle. I rented an apartment in the outskirts of London. I dated. I scraped together a non-magical living. And after a while, I got so comfortable there, that I somewhat forgot the intricacies of what life is like when you have magic at your disposal."

He took a deep breath, and seemed ready to conclude. "In summary - it's been a bit of a culture shock, returning to the wizarding world. And since my entire life prior to leaving, I was a spy - well, I've been struggling against those instincts ever since I set foot in these wretched halls."

He lowered his head and appeared to prostrate himself before her.

Hermione was so flabbergasted by this entire conversation that she could barely think of a response. Though luckily for her, she had one come to mind.

"Erm. So. Erm. What brought on this change of heart, exactly? You seemed completely fine with what you did last week."

Severus looked up at her, and his face visibly softened into something that strangely - so, so strangely - made her want to cuddle him like a podgy stuffed bear.

"Erm. My girlfriend?"

He did not seem exactly pleased to be admitting he wasn't single, though there was a significant amount of pride and happiness in his voice that made his story plausible.

"What?" asked Hermione, actually finding herself disappointed. "Who is she? God, don't tell me it's Trelawney."

"No," he responded with a gag, and his face shifted back into something more recognizable. "No, no. Erika's not here. She's in Boston."

"Is... is she a Muggle?" asked Hermione, beginning to realize the significance that all this seemed to have. And he nodded in assent.

Severus Snape had a girlfriend. Severus Snape had a MUGGLE girlfriend. Severus Snape had a MUGGLE (AMERICAN?!) girlfriend.

This, and Severus Snape had gotten fat.

Surely there had to be some relationship between these two things.

In any case, Hermione swallowed the disappointment that was making her throat feel tight. "So your girlfriend. She's a Muggle. And she's in Boston. How exactly did she change your mind?"

"Oh." Snape smiled sadly. "I... I was just describing to her what had happened. I was gloating over it, actually, and then she gave me an earful as a response. It took me a few days for the message to sink in, but she refused to talk to me until I listened to reason, so...that's what happened." He appeared sad and self-deprecatingly angry. "I do always go and botch up things," he said in a sad lament.

Hermione, however, noticed there was something strange in his story. "I hear you. But one question - exactly *how* are you able to talk with your Muggle girlfriend in Boston?"

Snape perked up at the question, apparently having feared a worse one about to roll off her tongue. "Well, as it happens, I just got the electronics wards down. You know how electronics have never worked in Hogwarts? Well, that's changed now. I finally figured out the trick to Albus' old anti-electronics spells. For such a progressive man in some ways, he was also quite the luddite. But then again, we both know it was part of his larger scheme to control everything. Chances are, it helped us survive the war, in the long run."

And then, as Hermione stared at him incredulously - he'd just casually unraveled yet another one of Dumbledore's lies, one that could have made her life incredibly and dramatically different - and even as she stared at him bewilderedly, Snape reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone.

He flipped it open, and on the screen flashed a recently-received text message, from someone named Erika Holmes: a less-than sign next to the number three.

Hermione stared at it. "It's... it works?"

"Yes." Snape typed a response, clicked send, and showed it to Hermione as it processed the text message and, in a moment, blinked 'Text sent!'

The text he had sent was a smiley-face.

A SMILEY-FACE. Severus Snape was in the habit of sending SMILEY-FACE text messages to his AMERICAN MUGGLE GIRLFRIEND.

Oh, and Severus Snape had gotten fat. She couldn't forget that.

Hermione wasn't sure whether she should laugh or cry. So much new information.

"So," she said, gathering her blankets more closely around her, as she felt her mood sink dangerously low, "What did she say that made you think otherwise?"

Snape seemed to consider his options. Finally settling on one, he seemed to get shy all of a sudden, and pull himself back up into a more dignified, snobby position.

"She's a trauma survivor," he said slowly, carefully, as if he'd practiced saying this in the bathroom mirror. "She was raped when she was fifteen and has gone through the full gambit of issues that come from that since then."

"Erm," said Hermione, feeling awkward about where this conversation was going. "Maybe you shouldn't be sharing this."

"Oh, it's fine," he said, rolling his eyes. "She's incredibly open about it. Writes and blogs and such all over the internet. Moreover, she told me I should share whatever I felt was necessary to help make this situation better." His eyes then came alight, and he snatched another biscuit from the plate, shoving it into his mouth. "By the way - Granger, do you even know about the internet? I didn't until I left, and now I can't live without it."

"It... it was still pretty new when I was a kid," Hermione said, still overwhelmed by the new amount of information she was facing. "I never got used to it. I'm not like the Muggle students in my classes, all abuzz about their social networks."

"You've got to get on it," he said, a thrill in his voice. "You absolutely must. Now that the wards are disbanded, Minerva's given me the go-ahead to install a computer lab. I insist you try it."

"Erm," Hermione said, "all right?"

"Excellent," said Snape, taking another biscuit. "So..." he said, his voice dialing down again, as he remembered the original reason he'd come to see her. "So, I wonder if you have any other questions for me. I..." he paused, took a deep breath, and sighed. "I'm still adjusting to you being a colleague and not my student, I admit." He closed his eyes. "It's been a difficult adjustment. Environmental influences make people act completely different. I..." he took a breath, "I suppose I want you to know, Miss Granger, that I've changed. And I'm not entirely sure how much I've changed, really. But I'm definitely different physically, and I know I'm different psychologically."

Hermione, touched by this speech, could indeed see that Snape was different than she'd ever seen him.

"Very well," she said, sadly, "it seems you've learned your lesson. Thank you for your apology, Professor."

"Severus," said the man, earnestly - perhaps too much so. "Please call me Severus."

"Maybe," said Hermione, standing up and drawing her blanket more tightly around her. "I'll... I'll think about it."

Snape studied her. And Hermione studied him. He did indeed seem much more lively than when she'd seen him the past few days. And... and receptive?

How interesting.

Despite herself, she said, "So, you see what the problem is with what you did."

"Yes," he said, and sighed. "Moreover, I must thank you for your charity - though perhaps it was out of a misplaced sense of guilt for what happened, so perhaps I should not be thanking you at all - in not going to Minerva about this. I know she'd have had my guts for garters had she known about this."

"We wouldn't want that pretty gut made into garters," said Hermione, more tenderly than she intended, allowing herself a healthy glance at his vast belly. (Now that she knew he was off the market, she felt like she could do this more safely than before). Her face reddened as she did so, but she brushed away her blush, by adding, "So, erm, about that. I actually did go to Minerva. Right away, as it happened. She just wasn't interested in hearing what I had to say."

Severus Snape's entire face changed. "Really?" he said, "I can't believe this."

"Neither can I," Hermione replied, "but she completely brushed me off. And she gave me this enormous bundle of papers." She gestured at the papers that had been residing on her bureau. "I just know it won't go anywhere, so I figure, why bother?"

Snape's round face was clearly heated, and he took one additional biscuit and stood up.

"Miss Granger," he said, a tone of iron bracing his words, "I'm glad you told me this. I... it seems I'm going to have to go have a talk with our headmistress."

"What sort of talk?" asked Hermione, standing up with him.

His thick jaw was set and determined as he said, "I need to know why I wasn't punished for what I did."

With that, he stormed out of the room like a barrel dropped from a wagon on a mountain road.

And, like a weak metaphor, Hermione threw on a cover-robe and followed, not sure what to expect, but feeling a rush of dismal pride (informed by jealousy).


	6. Snape confronting McGonagall, and promises

They got to McGonagall's suite in faster time than Hermione would have imagined from someone of Severus' bulk. Also, she was impressed with how silently he still moved - where he once was as soundless as the gentle swish of his cloak against the floorboards, now that there was a little bit more to him, there was now the reassuring added sounds of floorboards groaning under his weight with every step, as well as the scraping of twill fabric between his thick thighs.

Snape rapped at the door firmly, and McGonagall's frail, "just a moment," resulted in her being at the door in her braids and slippers in seconds flat. "Yes?" she said, and when she saw both of her potions professors standing in the hall, one of which was barely decent, McGonagall asked, "Where's the fire?"

"In my tongue," said Severus fiercely, and, with an apologetic look towards Hermione, he edged his way inside McGonagall's suite and closed the door.

Hermione found her ears full of muffilato all of a sudden, and feeling somewhat infantilized, she sat down and poked at her belly. In her haste, she'd picked up one of her more comfortable (read: large) robes, and it saddened her to see that the belly that had been rounding out nicely last week was, at this point, deflated significantly due to her lack of eating.

Since she was already feeling better about the situation, she went back to her suite and took some action to remedy her lack of plumpness by eating the remainder of the biscuits and drinking most of the rest of the milk. Once these were accomplished, she felt more full and plump, and generally in a better mood than she was before.

She went back to sit in the hallway, and sat on the floor, one hand on her expanding tummy, one pinching her delicious lovehandles to try and see what kinds of shapes they made when she squished them.

Finally, the muffilato ended, and Severus stepped out of the room, and McGonagall closed the door behind him.

"That didn't sound like it went well," said Hermione as she looked at Snape.

Snape shrugged. "I hope she'll come around at some point. I've given myself the duty of scrubbing the cauldrons for you tomorrow, however. By hand."

"What?" Hermione asked with a laugh, though her mind couldn't help but stutter as she realized he was prescribing his own favorite punishment to himself. "Why on earth?"

He looked at her with sadness in his eyes. "Just let me."

She couldn't exactly deny him such a self-flagellatory commitment. "Erm. Sure. If you need it, have at it."

He nodded, and as he walked her to her bedroom door, he bid her goodnight, and said, "I...I hope I haven't been too forward, Miss Granger. Social things - at least *real* social things - were never my strong suit. I'm an old spy with habits that die hard. I... I struggle when it comes to interacting with people that aren't clearly-marked enemies with goals on their backs."

She felt herself smiling as she looked at him, his face taut and chubby, his belly hanging low and heavy, his arse full and succulent. And to look at him, she knew she couldn't hold anything against him.

"You... you're forgiven," she said gently. "Don't fret over it. Please. Just... as long as you're nice. I think I like this effect that Erika has on you. I'm looking forward to meeting her someday."

"Oh, perhaps you will," he said, not sounding entirely invested in such a future, "perhaps not. Whatever she wants. She doesn't plan on coming back to England for a while. She's doing a pharmacology fellowship, you see," he added, with pride bleeding out of his voice. "At Harvard Medical School."

"She sounds great," said Hermione, feeling like she didn't give a damn. She truly didn't want to hear about Erika Holmes and how Brilliant she was.

"She is," said Snape.

He then took a deep breath, and said, "Well, I should be off to bed, as should you, I believe."

"No rush," said Hermione, feeling sorry to see him go. "Thank you for… being nice, for once."

"I…" He seemed surprised by this comment. "I could ask for some elaboration, but I think we're both a bit too tired to go on talking about this. I say we adjourn here and regroup some time during the week."

"That sounds fine," said Hermione, already feeling sleepy.

"Excellent," said Snape, and he gave a short bow. Even as portly as his body was, it was elegant.

"To later," he said, and turned on his heel to walk towards his own room.

Hermione replied, softly, "to later," and crept into her own room, thoroughly bewildered by the events of the evening.


	7. come to breakfast

She didn't actually see him that soon. Granted, she was on the verge of avoiding *him* at this point, because she felt awkward about the whole situation.

It surprised her very much that Snape's next step, after seeing into a very intimate place in her mind, was to reconsider his actions and ask for forgiveness.

Well, she supposed, people changed. She'd certainly changed during her time in the ministry.

It did rankle her that she seemed to be the one worse for wear after five years. Then again, as she considered it, his life was so abysmal, perhaps the only direction he could go was up.

Speaking of going up: after her interaction with Snape in her room, she felt her body going back to its more-normal state of softness, though slowly, as she began to regroup and get back into a healthy routine.

She was trying to keep as her meals as regular as she could in the Great Hall, arriving early whenever possible, and staying late when she didn't see Snape come in the entire meal. But most days, she realized, he just didn't eat in the Great Hall.

Once she realized this, she wondered how much she should take this personally. While Snape had told her he looked forward to talking with her later, she hadn't seen him really make an effort to make this happen. It was disappointing, and Hermione wondered if perhaps he had been lying.

But no. She had a pretty dang good bullshit detector, and nothing had come to her attention during that conversation, so she decided that he must have been sincere.

But a week went by, and she didn't see him. A second week went by, and she only saw him the day she came in late to get breakfast - he was already on his way out, and he smiled - SMILED! - at her apologetically and went on, not stopping.

During this time, there was no one else really to talk to at the table. Pomona and Rolanda always came and left swiftly. McGonagall, while polite, seemed to focus all of her attention on her stringent portion of steel-cut oatmeal, and while other professors came and went, none was interested enough in Hermione to break up their habits or cliques in order to sit with her.

It wasn't strange to feel like the outlier at Hogwarts. But she hadn't felt this lonely since her first year.

Not only was this emotional drama taking place, she also felt her clinical-grade anxiety mounting. Of course, why should she feel anxious that he was avoiding her? What did it matter? It wasn't as if her crush on Snape - oh, yes, she'd finally admitted to herself that she was completely smitten - was solicited, reciprocated, or even noticed. But she still wanted to make sure that she wasn't on his bad side.

Granted, she'd spent so much of her life chasing after good grades from him that it wasn't exactly a difficult transition.

Being a teacher meant you had a lot of power, Hermione noticed, and she felt the power imbalance acutely between herself and Snape, even though they were supposedly colleagues.

Finally, not able to take it anymore, Hermione found herself knocking on Snape's chamber door one morning. She noticed, as the sunlight hesitantly shone through the hall window, that the nameplate on his door was more dim and tarnished than any of the others. Many years of pounding from Dumbledore in the dead of night, she assumed.

And she sighed. It was always painful to think about Dumbledore in a state other than a cheerful, benevolent, if brilliant old man.

Snape wasn't the kind who could open the door without undoing several layers of wards, it sounded like; a few words and a tangle of spells later, and Severus opened the door. He was scowling at the light.

"What is it, Granger?" he spat, looking cross.

"Erm," Hermione said, finding her tongue confiscated by a cat. "Erm. Come to breakfast." She at least managed to get part of what she'd intended to say out of her head.

He looked at her, rubbed his temples, and closed his eyes. "Erm," he responded, just as awkwardly, "I have already come to breakfast."

"When?" Hermione demanded, "I didn't see you. I almost never see you. What, do you eat all of your meals in your rooms, alone?"

He seemed a bit taken aback. "Yes?" he answered, somewhat testily. "What would you expect? That's my routine. I've never regularly dined in the Great Hall for any meals."

Hermione scrutinized him briefly. She was delighted to see that he looked a bit rounder than he had last time she had a good look at him. He wasn't wearing a cloak, and his shirt was partly untucked from his trousers, but she could see his trousers were quite tight, and getting a little bit thin at the waistline where it was clear Snape had been regularly stretching them with tailoring spells.

"Well," she said, "can I eat with you?"

"Whatever for?" Snape asked, clearly uncomfortable, but then he put a hand to his head. "Oh, because for you, breakfast is gossip time. Can't get along with your day without hearing the latest tidbits about who's dating who and whatnot."

"You know it's not that," said Hermione with a scowl. "I just don't like to eat alone. And I'm really not able to find anyone else to eat with every morning. At least, no one who wants to talk to me so early. So, will you let me eat up here with you?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "Fine. But you must promise me one thing."

Hermione, glad he'd been so easy to convince, still was cautious when she asked, "What?"

His eyes were mischievous as he responded, "You must promise not to ask me to share."

With that, he clapped his hands briskly, and a houself that Hermione had tried to free at one point - who went by the name of Lowly - showed up, smiling and beaming.

"Master Snape," said the elf with a bow. "Do you wish anything else?"

"Not for myself," Snape said, but then amended, "Oh, well, wait. I would like some of that brioche french toast you mentioned. I thought I didn't, but now I've thought about it and changed my mind."

"Very good sir," chirped Lowly. "Would you be wanting that instead of the eggs Benedict, or with?"

"With," said Snape with a sniff, "Now Lowly, please be so good as to take Professor Granger's order."

Professor. He'd called her Professor Granger. Feeling uncommonly lovely inside, she almost said yes to everything Lowly offered, though barely caught herself.

When Lowly had gone, Snape was looking at her with curious eyes.

"What did you mean, the other day," he said, settling himself down in a sizeable armchair that he nonetheless succeeded in filling. "When you said 'thank you for being nice, for once'?"

"I meant," Hermione said, feeling the need to tread lightly on this issue, "that you've got a history of being... less than kind."

"Oh." He looked relieved, though also sad. "Well. That's all?"

"Yes," Hermione said, then smirked. "No deeper meaning."

"All right," he said. "I understand."

He then proceeded to be thoroughly distracted as Lowly brought him a hot cup of coffee, a carafe of orange juice, and Hermione's black tea.

"So." He stirred no less than four lumps of sugar into his black coffee, and took a sip. "What do you want to talk about, Granger?"

She was put off by the comment. "Well, when you put me on the spot like that, of course I'm not going to have an answer."

"Very well," he said, and she could start to see that he was just teasing her. "I'm guessing that you're interested in my newfound affection..." he paused, looking out the window dramatically, "for research."

"Oh," said Hermione, annoyed because she'd been hoping - as he knew she'd be hoping - that he'd elaborate a little bit about his girlfriend situation. "I'd genuinely love that. But I want to know a little bit more about your newfound affection for a woman that isn't Harry's mum."

That might have been a little inappropriate, and Snape looked stunned.

"Again," he repeated, "how nice it would be to live in a world where one's deepest secrets weren't left on the pavement to be picked up and trampled on by casual wayfarers."

"Do you think I'm a casual wayfarer?" countered Hermione glibly.

He studied her, and she smiled at him.

"I have no way of telling," he answered at last. "My frame of reference for such things is rather poor. My closest confidante for the past twenty years was a man who was using me up until his last breath."

"Well," Hermione said, shrinking a little bit, "perhaps your frame of reference could use with some expanding."

She cast a glance at him, and the corner of his mouth twitched, picking up the place where she could have made a joke, but didn't. It seemed to cement how comfortable he seemed to be with the conversation.

"So," he said, after a pause, "Once I got myself out of the shithole that I called my escape apartment, I spent most of my time as a research assistant in a lab at Oxford. Initially it was just tedious work, but soon I started pursuing my own independent projects..."

He described in great detail his adventures at Oxford, and Hermione listened, enraptured.

There was something in his face that she'd never seen before, when he talked about the intricate problems of chemistry, and how he was trying to apply his new skills and knowledge to developing an evidence-based werewolf vaccine, to prevent the virus from infecting innocents upon being bitten.

"I had the great privilege of being exposed to some of the best research on HIV/AIDs that the Muggle world could offer," he was explaining, and then there was a sudden blink! and pop! and there was a great smorgasboard of plates on the dining table.

Snape heaved himself up out of his chair and edged himself to the dining table. He briskly unfolded his napkin, laid it on his lap, and gestured for Hermione to join him.

He then continued, barely skipping a beat to shove items of food in his mouth.

It was fascinating to watch him, Hermione observed. As she ate, she watched him eat. And even as he was talking virtually non-stop about all of this exciting research, she kept being distracted by the wobbling of his chins, the way he tucked food into his mouth as efficiently as one might put mail in a postal box, and the way he simply seemed to enjoy every bite.

There was a sense of exquisite pleasure that he experienced every time his fork went to his mouth. Once or twice, he'd been so overtaken by the delicious taste that he'd had to pause his description and murmur, "Oh, that's excellent," before ploughing forward both with his narrative and his eating.

And oh, Hermione was enjoying watching him eat with an obscene amount of pleasure of her own. Her panties were starting to get sticky the moment he sat down, spread his legs, and began to attack the food. She was nearly squirming with desire as he began to finish his meal. He'd cleared away at least four plates' of food, not to mention a half-dozen pastries. (It was clear he liked the sweet stuff.)

She herself had eaten well, too, though she'd not eaten nearly as much.

As he laid down his fork for the final time, she was struggling to finish her second plate of food. Snape, looking as if he was barely able to keep his eyes open, so stuffed and content he was, managed to maneuver himself in a position where he could make eye contact with her without much effort. This meant propping his fat, heavy face on the table in his hands, with his elbows supporting them by jamming into the table.

"You going to finish that?" he asked her, truly serious (from her standpoint).

"Mmmm," Hermione said, wondering if she was or wasn't.

She looked at his eyes, and she saw a devilish grin in them. A dare, as it were.

"Yes," she answered, "And no, I'm not sharing."

"You'd better finish it, fast," Snape said, scooting his chair towards her in a threatening manner. "Or else I'll be taking it from you."

"No, that won't be necessary," Hermione said, hoping it was true.

"I'll help you," said Snape. He added, "may I touch your abdomen?"

Leave it to Snape to call a stomach an abdomen. Hermione, feeling herself stuffed, figured there could be no harm in his touching her, and allowed him to do so. She felt a pang of worry that somewhere far across the Atlantic, a pretty (thin!) girl was going to get her knickers in a twist about this. But the sensation of having Snape so close to her was so electric that she couldn't bear to think about that.

His touch was surprisingly chaste; he used only his palms to massage her belly and try and make room.

"Come on," he said in a low whisper, too close to her ear for her not to notice, "Just a few more bites, it's good, isn't it? You're getting so round, sweetheart, you're getting so round. Just a few more bites and we can call an elf for our dishes - but until then, take another bite. Good girl."

And so it went, Hermione being coaxed to finish her french toast, and Snape doing her the favor of coaxing her.

Soon, she was beyond stuffed, and Snape continued to massage her for the next several minutes.

Until, both of them simultaneously looked up to see the clock chiming the start of classes.

"Frack," Hermione said, standing up in a wobbly fashion. "I'm supposed to be teaching right now."

"Please," Snape said, "let me help you get there."

Thus saying, he bent down (despite not being agile) and picked up her bookbag. Then he rushed (as fast as he could) to the door, opened it, and took her down the hall.

"I've... got it from here," Hermione insisted, feeling delighted at the amount of care he seemed to be putting into their friendship. "Same tomorrow?"

"Yes," Snape said, smiling.

Hermione stalked off, feeling immensely proud of herself for the events of the morning. She could tackle anything today - she had another wonderful breakfast with Snape tomorrow.


	8. we can try to be friends

The next day, he was not as cross as the day before. Perhaps it was because the day outside was gloomy, and the light that shone in the window by his door was dim and more polite, less intrusive.

She knocked and he welcomed her in wordlessly. She noticed that clutter that had spread across the room the day before - books, papers, other academic detritus - had been unceremoniously removed to end tables and other vestigial furniture. Hermione was pleased to see that there were already two chairs at the main table, specifically observing that Snape's most comfy armchair had been moved there. With a strangely gentlemanly gesture, he offered her a seat, and smiling she accepted.

He sat down in it hastily, as if aware that Hermione had been coveting his spot. Without further preamble, he clapped his meaty - though still long-fingered and elegant - hands, and Lowly appeared, and both of them ordered, neither with much deliberation.

"So," Hermione said in a congenial fashion, "I believe you were telling me about the way peptides interacted with each other once you added the reactive agent, in that final experiment before you ended your retirement in the Muggle world."

"Was I?" he said, and a hint of a smirk came to his face. Lowly popped back to deposit coffee and tea on the table, and disappeared again. Snape added his four lumps and slowly stirred, though he wasn't using it as a method of escape as he was yesterday. "I thought the last thing we were talking about was something...completely different." He wore a wry grin, but didn't make eye contact, as if sharing a private joke with his coffee mug.

"Perhaps it was," Hermione said, trying to sound noncommittal, trying her best not to blush. "Well, no matter. What do you want to talk about now?"

Snape paused, looking up at her, beaming as if entertaining the most dangerous of thoughts, and as he looked down again, she thought she saw his tongue skim over the rim of his lips, but once he spoke, his words were just as composed and impassive as always.

"How are you finding teaching?" he asked, glancing up and then down again, failing to conceal a mischievous look that hinted that he was biding his time before asking something truly salacious.

Hermione's face morphed into something resembling a comfortable melancholy. "Oh, well, I'm sure you know its pitfalls, so instead I will tell you what I enjoy about it."

"Do," he bid her, leaning forward over his coffee and gazing at her in such a way that was just slightly exaggerated - she wasn't entirely sure if he was mocking the convention of leaning forward to express interest, or if he was genuinely keen.

For her sanity, she had to assume good faith, she decided. So, she decided he was being earnest.

"While of course it's not all fun and games… I really love to see when a student gets it," she said, a glow rising to her face. "When someone has been struggling and then all of a sudden has an illuminating moment - that makes the struggle worth it for me. It's all the more sweet for a long battle," she went on.

She went on to describe a detailed example of one of the students in her class.

Snape listened with close attention, though it was clear that to some extent, he was indulging her.

"I wish that mattered as much to me," he said finally, as she paused to sip and take some bites of her scone. "I just hated the struggle so much. Especially when there were students in the class, like yourself, who got it right away. Why not devote more time to those minds, rather than the dunderheads who wouldn't get it if it bit them on the leg and announced 'here I am, I'm the solution, pick me up and run with me.'"

"Well, the dunderheads do have something to offer," Hermione counteracted. "I mean, just think about it. If we only educated students who liked the subjects we taught, then there would be so many people who would remain largely in the dark about what we do and why. And then - well, when these dunderheads get positions of power, they think what we do is valueless. And cut our funding. At least this way, they know what we do is valuable - even if the only reason they think it's valuable is because it's hard."

Snape laughed, a low dark laugh that made her thrill expectantly. "Certainly a fair point," he said, smiling, "but that doesn't mean it's enjoyable for the teacher."

"But it's important," Hermione said.

He grinned at her quizzically. "Are you quite sure you weren't sorted into the wrong house, Granger? Deriving enjoyment from the a task's value to society is a decidedly 'Puffy, at least in my book."

She rolled her eyes. "I have a theory about this, actually. I think the whole house system is dumb."

"What a theory, so original, wow,*" he responded coolly, but his eyes were alight and engaged. He clearly was interested.

Lowly arrived then with their food, and they tucked in ravenously.

"So as I was saying," Hermione went on, "I've got a firm-held belief that people naturally gravitate towards approximately two houses. There are very few people who actually meet all of the criteria for their house description - and also very few people whose personalities don't involve at least clear signs of fitting in with another house."

Snape didn't respond, just smiling faintly and eating. As she watched him, Snape truly seemed to have an unlimited capacity, and today as Hermione dominated the conversation, he seemed to do nothing but swallow and chew. She noted happily that he seemed to have rapt attention towards what she was talking about.

"For example," she said, "I do have some very strong Hufflepuff traits, such as a desire to maintain equilibrium with the world morally, and not create enemies when they could be friends."

Snape snorted and took a sip of coffee, but said nothing.

"However," Hermione went on, "the way I actualize these desires - models of relating to the world, you might say - is very active. Whereas the majority of the Hufflepuffs I know, they are highly reactive and don't take initiative very often, at least not in large-scale ways. The Hufflepuffs I know are usually the first to remember your birthday, for example, while a Gryffindor might forget. But a Gryffindor might be more likely to help you get a job promotion, which is likely to have a much broader impact than remembering your birthday, whereas a Hufflepuff might be a bit ambivalent towards helping you towards that goal because they don't want to take a stand for or against anything."

Snape sipped his coffee and pushed away his first clean plate.

"So, in your theory, that's the dividing line between the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs," Snape said, pursing his lips. "How does this train of thought extend to Ravenclaws and Slytherins?"

"You're a step ahead of me," said Hermione, feeling delighted that she had someone to say that to. "So clearly in this schema, the thing that separates Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs is a sense of extraversion, in the sense that they see their actions as having a greater sense of meaning and importance in the world than, I assume, a Slytherin or Ravenclaw might have."

"Are you saying their difference is one of optimism versus pessimism?" Snape asked, frowning. "That doesn't ring true to me."

"I wouldn't even say that," Hermione clarified, "I just would say that the dividing line is what has more weight in terms of personality expression - focus on other-ness, or focus on self-ness."

He caught her eye as she laid emphasis on the word 'weight,' and they shared a brief glance of shared resolution. It was becoming clearer to them both that teasing each other about their bodies was not happening here.

And being able to have this strange connection, of being able to dialogue meaningfully about their fat (even though they weren't explicitly talking about it) really turned Hermione on.

But after this shared moment, he refocused and, after musing for a moment, muttered "Narcissism?" He accompanied this with a bit of a laugh, but she was afraid from the tenor of his voice that he was taking it a little too much to heart.

"I mean," she said fretfully, "in the classical sense, that's what I mean. Not with the contemporary connotation of narcissistic personalities and whatever."

His face indicated he was still not quiescent about this, and she pointed a finger at him.

"Look," she said, "even now, as I'm describing this, look at the form of psychological distress you're having while I'm saying this. What is the primary feeling you're having right now?"

"Erm," he said, his face changing as he switched gears from feeling to analyzing his feelings. "I'm insulted. I just don't feel like someone who's made the error of dedicating his whole miserable life to others qualifies as a narcissist. And I'm bitter that you think I'm a narcissist, though from your perspective, I probably deserve it. "

"Exactly," Hermione said, "you're not worried that such a narcissistic persona would be a bad thing in the world as a whole, you're worried that it's what I think of you. You're concerned more with the self-image than in the images of others. And that's not a bad thing, necessarily," she went on. "It has advantages and disadvantages, like any trait. How it manifests in you, though, it is a fairly concerning disadvantage."

He seemed concerned, but also confused, so she clarified, "I mean, you do have a history of being really cruel to people. Lacking empathy."

His face clouded in pain.

"Even now," Hermione pressed, "as I say this, you're considering this from a self-image role - or, oh, I mean an ego-centric perspective - and not an other-centric perspective."

"Well," Snape said, hesitantly, "what if I'm concerned with what you think of me?"

"That's still what I'm talking about," Hermione said, feeling gratified that at least he was listening to her. "You're concerned with how I perceive you. You're not really concerned with the image of me in your brain. You're concerned with how I perceive you, not how I perceive myself."

"Okay," he said, and then quietly he asked, "so, let's approach another part of your thesis. You say that I have a problem with empathy. I'm surely going to regret this but - give me an example?"

Hermione was surprised at how interested he was in listening to her, despite how clearly he was disliking this.

She took a deep breath. Was she really about to confront him about something that had happened so long ago?

Yes, she was.

"Remember when someone cast that miserable spell that made my teeth grow to enormous proportions?" she said, finding a lump catching in her throat despite herself. "Do you remember what you said to me?"

He closed his eyes, and appeared visibly pained.

"I...I see what you mean," he said.

"Say it," she said with a hiss.

He looked at her, mortified. And he was probably stunned that she sounded so much like him, honestly.

"Say it," she said again, her voice stern and taut.

"I… I said," he murmured, "I said, 'I see no difference.'"

"That's what I remember," she affirmed, feeling victorious. "Take note that when you said this, you humiliated a little girl who was already a frequent victim of bullying," said Hermione, her voice rising with emotion. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I wasn't," he confessed.

"I'd agree. And I think somewhere inside you, there's something about making other people feel bad that pleases you. Seeing other's pain makes you tick."

She looked at him, and it was clear he was repressing his negative emotions. His face was blank, and he pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose.

Oh. She had overdone it. She was definitely not feeling pleased with herself at this point - she'd quite lost control of herself. Snape was sitting there, subdued.

What the hell had she been thinking?

"Well," Hermione said, trying to make up for the arrow she'd shot out of the bow and could not return, "maybe given that, maybe I'm wrong about the self-image thing. It's clear you have an acute awareness of other peoples' emotions. But in this case - as in others, I imagine - you took this knowledge and exploited it. Basically for fun. Am I on to something?"

"I… I guess?" Snape said, and he took a deep breath. "Look," he said, after a moment of silence, "Let's take a moment to talk about something else. I'm a bit overwhelmed."

"Good on you for acknowledging it and not snapping at me," said Hermione, backpedaling, and realizing that she'd been pressing really hard.

"I… I have to ask, though," he said, looking at her. His face was red, and his eyes were… not glassy, but nearing it. He blinked a few times. "Is… is that what you really think of me?"

Hermione was already self-flagellating. Oh, Merlin. What on earth had she done?

"Well," she said slowly, "I guess not. Or I probably would not have said all that. And, on that note, I probably wouldn't be here, either, if that's what I really thought of you."

She looked up at him sincerely, and they maintained steady eye contact for several moments. There was no sound in the room but the steady ticking of the clock on the mantel.

Finally, she sighed, and pushed her plate towards him.

"I think my eyes were bigger than my stomach," she said meaningfully.

Snape, who had another full plate of his own to go, looked uncomfortable and pale, like he was going to be sick.

He was really good at hiding it, but she'd made him physically feel ill. And she felt like a monster for it.

"Oh, bother," said Hermione. "I...I'm sorry," she said, standing up and moving her chair to be next to him.

He didn't look at her, just staring ahead, blinking fiercely and glaring at the bookcase across the room.

"Listen," she said softly, "It's... all of this is weird. I get it. It's weird for me, it's weird for you. Not the least of things that's weird is that you're freaking alive, and I'm not freaking crusading for change at the Ministry of Magic. It boggles my mind that I'm here, and you're here, and that we're both here at the same time. And it also boggles my mind that somehow, of all the staff members I could be interested in, I feel like you're the only person in this school who I want to talk to."

Her preliminary exposition complete, she took a breath. "But two people can't always adjust their changing roles seamlessly. Especially two people like us, with such significant breakage in our pasts."

She took a deep breath. "At least, I know we won't get through this without a transition period."

She took another deep breath, preparing herself to be more vulnerable than she'd been with him yet. "I… I think we can be friends, Professor Snape," she said. "At least, I'd like to try. And if it's a bit rough at first, I hope you'll not hold that against me. I have a lot of resentment, but not so much that I can't get over it in a timely fashion. Already I feel like the densest bludger for having been so fracking insensitive this whole conversation."

This did not seem to make Snape look more calm, less distressed, or more receptive. Instead - oh, if only Harry and Ron could see him now - Snape looked like he was going to start tearing up right then and there.

But after a moment, he regained his composure, and shook his head fiercely.

"Weird isn't the half of it," he said with a low grumble. "Of course, turbulence is part of learning to fly."

Then, with a sigh of relief, he said, "Pass… pass me the preserves, please?"

Hermione too was relieved, and she gratefully passed them to him. Rosehip preserves, they were, she noticed with a deep rush of exhilaration.

She wondered if it was a mere coincidence or not. But Snape wasn't about to give up that secret, it was clear.

He finished both of their meals methodically and meticulously. Hermione was looking forward to perhaps touching him a little afterwards, but the clock struck nine before he was done eating, so she just squeezed his shoulder and left him there at the table, finishing the crumbs.

"Tomorrow," he mumbled as she stepped out.

"Yes," she replied. She was glad that there was going to be a tomorrow, after today.

...  
*yes, I just almost used Doge in a fanfic. No, I do NOT apologize. Very Snape. Much in-character. So Doge. Wow


	9. Snape's life story

She was back the next day, more generous of spirit and thoroughly chastened.

Snape appeared to be in an uncommonly good mood despite the events or yesterday, and Hermione was glad to see that he had already ordered and started eating.

"Sorry," he apologized perfunctorily, "I didn't sleep much, and I was hungry."

"That's fine," she said preferring him eating more than less. "I hope you'll still get something when I order. I don't like feeling like I'm the only one getting food."

He caught her eye, "I'll see what can be done," he said, and again they shared a significant moment of mutual understanding.

She realized that he understood - possibly better than she herself did - how much she enjoyed watching him eat.

They soon were ordered, and they launched directly into conversation.

"So," she queried, "you were up all night?"

"Yes," he said, and began explaining a complicated combination of spells that he'd been using in his methodical, scientific proceedings in the lab.

It was very interesting to Hermione, but it isn't really interesting to us Muggles. So forgive me - I'm going to use my authorial liberty to skip over it.

"This is all really fascinating," Hermione mused. "I remember the genius ideas I used to get when I had all-nighters. Just the shift of perspective needed, sometimes, to think of trying an unusual angle. Now," she said, sitting back and putting a hand on her full stomach, cradling it. "I used to carry out all-nighters regularly as a student, and even at the Ministry sometimes, but it's gotten harder as I've gotten older. At this point, though, the recovery from such exertions is no longer efficient enough to make it worth it." Hermione said, laying down her fork for the first time in about twenty minutes, as Snape played catch-up to focus on putting food in his face.

"I commiserate," Snape said with a roll of his eyes. "I used to stay up three nights in a row and barely feel it." Then he frowned. "And why are you talking about getting old - I was your age."

"You're right," said Hermione with a grin. "So since this doesn't seem to be something that you do often, what inspired you this time?"

"Honestly?" Snape asked, a funny look in his eyes. "You might not want to know."

"What?" said Hermione, guessing that this was something salacious, and unable to think of anything else but what it might be.

"You might regret me telling you," he said with a smirk.

"I won't know until you tell me," she responded with a frivolous twist of her hair .

"Okay," he said, and (almost gently) he murmured, ducking his head and letting his hair fall over his face, hiding it partly, "phone sex "

She laughed - it was painful, given that she wished she could be giving him real-life sex - but it was also a funny reason for staying up late.

"Given where Erika lives," she said, self-consciously, "that isn't exactly surprising."

"...Yes."

He flat-out blushed. Not a furious red, just a little hint of pink in his cheeks.

It was freaking adorable, and Hermione wanted his cheeks for herself.

Why did he have to get himself in a relationship with a girl so far away?

Why did he have to be so chubby and plump and delightful looking?

Why did she think it was okay to have a crush on her former teacher?

Grow up, she told herself. Stop messing around with a thing that promises to be very good in its current form. Poking and prodding isn't a way to get what you want. You should be satisfied to have someone to get fat with.

Because, fundamentally, that's what she realized this relationship was becoming. A relationship based on their mutual love of food, and mutual shared interest in being fat.

"So," she said, her voice drooping with a little bit of sadness , "When you stay up late, you stay up late and keep on staying up, I take it."

"Yes," he said, "and it's quite productive. Even though I'll crash later. Can't stay up for days on end like I used to, subsisting on a cocktail of adrenaline and cigarettes."

"You smoked?" Hermione said, and Snape shrugged.

"In my generation, it was more rare to find someone who didn't smoke, Miss Granger," he said sternly. "My parents - and most of my peers parents - were crummy. Which meant that my generation's offspring - your generation - was coddled beyond measure."

Hermione smiled. "I guess that's the cycle."

She then remembered a loose end that they hadn't tied up yet. "So tell me about Erika," she said sweetly. "What is she like? She must be pretty special to stay with even though she's a quarter way round the world."

"She certainly is," said Snape with a genuine smile - again hiding half his face under his hair. He spooned a generous dollop of cream cheese on his lox. "I don't exactly care to gloat, however."

"Gloat away," Hermione begged, despite the fact that she was sure she was opening a bag of worms. "I get a thrill out of it. Vicarious romance."

He still seemed uncertain, so she urged him, "Come on. I have had five years of believing that you died the tragic unrequited hero who never found love. You owe it to yourself to start changing the color of your story."

"Do I really," he responded, but he ultimately seemed thoroughly pleased by her suggestion, so he said, "I suppose I will tell you - but I do intend to keep this as brief as possible. Maybe I'll tell you more in the future, because heaven knows there's more, and heaven knows you probably would bleed just to hear me tell it. Greedy girl," he added with an affectionate - affectionate?! - growl.

"But suffice it to say: I was sick to my stomach of being in love with Lily."

The statement dropped out of his mouth, and quite truly shocked Hermione. He elaborated, "I'd been in love with her for practically my whole sodding life. I can't even begin to explain how miserable it was, not to be able to move on. By the time you were in school, I wanted to, but I felt like I couldn't. I didn't want to be unfaithful. I didn't want to renege on my debt to her, to Albus, to society."

A quiet rage began to build in his voice.

"So that was my prison. I was so angry, but the only place I knew to direct it was towards myself. After all, I was the screw-up, I was the one who had blasphemed her when she was trying to help me, I was the one who had become a Death-Eater, I was the one responsible for their death."

He took a sip of his coffee, and Hermione was surprised to see his cup shaking slightly in his hand.

"But then, Dumbledore's final request. It happened. I killed him. It nearly drove me insane. Can you imagine, being forced to kill a man you're indebted to a thousand times over because of, yet again, your own error? Then having to act - to believe, at least in the epidermis of your mind - that you were happy about it?"

He was breathing deeply, and took another sip of coffee. His hand was steadier, but he was gripping the handle harder. Hermione noticed the way the fat that covered the back of his hand shifted over his bones as he grabbed the cup, forming little rolls and wrinkles. But she felt guilty for noticing this, so she brought her eyes back to make contact with Snape's own. He wasn't looking at her, he was just staring deeply into his coffee mug, his hair loosely covering his face so that he was completely out of sight from her.

Not looking up, he went on, "I was at the breaking point, and I was feeling faint of heart. I realized that by spending my entire life trying to pay back debts that weighed on me, I'd only accumulated more. That summer, in a fit of despair, I succumbed finally to the one sin I'd never sunk to - going to a prostitute."

Hermione didn't exactly find this shocking - she was on the more sex-positive side than not - but she listened soberly, giving him the attention he was due.

"I… I didn't want to leave, after the fact," he went on, still not looking up, but a certain tenseness left his body as he relaxed into the upward swing of the story. "And she was willing to indulge me as long as I paid her. So we chatted for hours. Well. Chatted wasn't exactly what happened," he said miserably. "I spilled my life's story to her. I felt so crippled, and I kept telling myself I could just obliviate her afterwards and my secrets would be safe, and it felt so refreshing to talk to someone who wasn't psychoanalyzing me the entire time. I suppose I wouldn't have done it had I not been so overcome by having finally, after so many years, felt the flesh of a woman."

Hermione was startled to realize the significance of this story: Snape was confessing to never having had sex until he was almost forty. She stared at him in wonderment. To look at him, he'd always seemed so sexually evocative, so cool and collected and charming. She knew that by that time, she'd been having fantasies about him for years.

All that, and he'd never once done the dirty. No wonder he'd been fucking mental.

He sighed. "She was so kind. I was so depressed. She coddled me and held me when my heart could not bear any more strain. And she effectively became my mistress after that. She took the place of Dumbledore as my confidante. I thoroughly regret having not gotten myself a whore sooner - she was so much more safe and trustworthy than he was."

A rueful smile emerged on his face. "I should look in on her," he said softly, "I wonder how she is. Anyway," he went on, "she eased my burdens significantly during that time. I was cared for in ways I'd never been cared for. I know I would not have gotten through that final year without her. And, she helped me realize that my obsession with Lily was not really the focal point of my life, at least not in the way I thought it was."

He took a deep breath, and looked up to read Hermione's face, as if he expected her to be judging him.

She wasn't. Her eyes were a little glassy, but she was listening soberly and quietly with rapt attention.

"You're ever the attentive student," he commented under his breath.

"Only when the material's worth learning," she responded quietly.

He nodded. "So anyway. As my life became more and more colorful with that relationship - if you can call it that - my obsession with Lily was fading in importance with every passing day. Soon my whole life prior to his death seemed like a nightmare. And I began to realize how Albus had clipped my emotional wings, so to speak. He had actively kept me attached to her - attributing everything I did to her in ways that were persuasive to me at the time, but once I was out of his cloud of influence, lost their power."

He was at a place emotionally where he was able to pick at his food again, and he began to munch on a slice of toast. "So much of our relationship - I mean mine with Albus - was one centered around debt," he said between bites. "I was in debt to him, in debt to Lily, in debt to society. And he fueled the fires of self-hatred that burned in me so fiercely. He liked to let me believe that I was one fucked-up fucker who was responsible for all the fucked-up-ness of the world. It was easier to control me, I suppose."

Hermione felt her heartbeat, and the rise and fall of her stomach as she breathed. She wasn't sure what to say, if anything.

Snape went on, "And even after Albus was dead and the albatross around my neck slipped off, for a while I still walked around like I was still wearing it, because I was conditioned to the weight."

He glanced at her and made eye contact, but he wasn't testing her this time he used the term weight, at least not really. It was like he was testing a floorboard that he was fairly certain would hold, but wanted to check to see if it would squeak if he stepped on it.

Hermione was rock-solid, and didn't squeak.

He took a deep breath. "But! Once I had 'died,' and had a moment alone to think, and wasn't being pulled every which way to fill a position running Hogwarts that I didn't ask for - I realized that the debt that had trapped me was gone. I was cold and alone and naked and starting again from square one, but dammit, I was free."

Hermione felt her face drain with emotion. She closed her eyes and breathed heavily. She felt like she'd just read a really intense novel and wanted to cry. "May… may I ask," she said quietly, "Why on earth would you choose to come back then, to this place where you were so abused?"

He seemed genuinely pleased she had asked. "Merely to prove to myself, Professor Granger," he said, picking up his napkin from his lap and putting it unceremoniously on the table, "that the shadows had no power over me any more."

And then, in a thoroughly delightful way, he added, "Also, magical research. Peace and quiet, not needing to hide my explosions and strange smells from the Muggle neighbors. Perfect timing, too, because I was so fucking sick of the drugs busts."

This lighthearted comment did not divert Hermione from her primary set of emotions of the moment: Snape was fucking badass. Even more than she'd thought he was.

"Do you know," Hermione said, practically whimpering, "how terrifyingly great you seem right now?"

He was taken aback, but after a moment of consideration, he took it in a way that showed he was flattered.

"Erm," he said, "it's… not as though my life is fiction devised for your amusement," he said, though he wasn't biting. He merely sounded bewildered.

"You're still great," Hermione replied, swelling with sadness and affection, a poisonous brew that threatened to explode her heart.

"I don't feel it," he said, slowly. "At least, recently, I've felt like I've been copacetic. But that's not until recently. So, great? Not in my vocabulary."

"Shush," she said in response, not able to articulate, just emote. "I think you're great. End of story."

He seemed to hesitate, but a lopsided smile emerged on his face. "Well," he said, "the feeling is… mutual?"

He sounded uncertain about it, but Hermione was soaring.

And angry.

Dammit, why did he have to have a girlfriend?

"Aren't you hungry?" he asked, breaking her mood swing gracefully. "You've barely touched your food. It'd be a shame to waste it. Poor elves will be broken-hearted."

Hermione shrugged. "I guess I'm not."

Snape took another sip of coffee, then heaved his way out of his comfortable chair. "How about we try and get a little more in there, shall we?"

Hermione flushed quite red, and nodded vigorously.

They proceeded to stuff Hermione until the clock chimed, and she left reluctantly, almost too satiated to teach her class.

"You know," Hermione said as she left, "we were supposed to talk about Erika. And you were supposed to gloat."

He shrugged. "So sorry. Tangents, you know."

But she had the sneaking suspicion that he was holding out on her, for some reason. Teasing her.

Well, she could wait, if he wanted her to. She might be a greedy girl, but she'd show him that she was at least a patient one.


	10. converstaion w ron

"Blimey, 'Mione," Ron said from the other side of the Floo, "you're putting it on, aren't you?"

"Thanks for being so considerate, Ron, as always," Hermione sniped back, rolling her eyes. She loved him, but sometimes he was just such a blockhead. In her defense, she  _was_ sitting in such a position that her belly prominently blocked out as much of Ron's face as possible. And also gave him an unabridged view of how plump she'd gotten since she'd last seen him.

"Sorry," he said, abashed. "I just… you know. I miss you. And, you know, I think you look cute when you're chubby."

Hermione wished she could say the same about missing Ron, but she hadn't thought much about Ron and the demise of their relationship in a while. At least not since the school year started.

"Thanks," she said, ignoring his chubby comment. "I'm keeping myself busy," she said, fluffing herself up like a hen. "I mean, being a student was a cakewalk compared to this."

"I'm sure," Ron said, smiling. "I can't believe we're not together anymore, 'Mione."

"Well, you'd better start believing it," said Hermione crossly, "given everything we've gone through. Don't tell me you are getting cold feet about Rodney?"

Ron blushed a furious red. "Don't say that," he said with a grimace. "It's not like that at all. In fact, we're moving in together."

"Oh." Hermione plastered on a fake smile, thinking of their little flat in London, where he still lived. She knew Rodney cursorily, and she really wished that Ron had fallen in love with one of the surely-abundant more-aesthetically-sensitive gay men in the world. The whole flat's color scheme was white and khaki, not colors that would stand up well to Rodney's large muddy boots. "Congratulations. When is that happening ?"

Ron looked down, mortified. "Erm. Whenever I tell my folks, I guess."

"Can't you just… pass as roommates for a while?" Hermione suggested, though she was sure Ron had a good reason that this wouldn't work.

"We talked about it," said Ron, "but neither of us is particularly interested in pretending. He's… he's being really patient, 'Mione, but I'm afraid that either my parents are going to disown me or he's going to leave me. And I really don't want either of those things to happen."

"Well," Hermione said gently, "you've got to tell them sometime."

"Do I?" Ron asked, and in his eyes she saw the strategist. "I mean, if I think of a way out of it - why not take it? I just need to come upon the right course of action." He looked at her with puppy-dog eyes. "I love my family and Rodney both. Why should I be forced to choose?"

"There's no guarantee that you'll be forced to choose," Hermione said, "Your father would definitely not disown you. I know him. He's sympathetic to queer issues."

"But it's not dad I'm worried about," said Ron with a sigh.

Both of them knew who he  _was_ worried about: Molly, the ever-doting "when am I going to be having grandchildren?" matron. When Hermione and Ron had, while still together, implied that children were going to be out of the question because of Hermione's desire to remain career-focused, Molly Weasley's eyes had burned, and she had begun a tirade the likes of which Hermione had never seen before directed at her.

_Am I not good enough for you because I'm a mother and housewife? Children are the future of the world. Do you not care about the world's future? You're an intelligent witch - you should be morally obligated to have children. Children are everything! If you will not bear my son's children, you will never be a part of this family._

Thus, Hermione had a lot of empathy for Ron, when Ron wanted to avoid coming out to his family as gay.

"Well, anything I can do to help, let me know," Hermione said. "Have you spoken to Harry recently?"

Ron shook his head, somber. "I don't know if we'll ever talk again," he said, with deep pathos. "You know."

"Yeah," Hermione said, sadly. "I know."

Harry hadn't been particularly helpful when Ron came out to him a few months ago, though granted he was  _really_ put on the spot by Ron's declaration of love for him, and Hermione couldn't blame Harry for needing some space. When it came between choosing between the love of your life and her brother… well, as an unequivocally straight dude, Harry had chosen the love of his life, and Hermione couldn't blame him. At least Harry, without needing a reminder, promised to keep his lips sealed about Ron's non-normative inclinations.

"I guess I understand it," Ron said, still in grief, "I guess in his place, it'd feel a little weird."

"Sure," Hermione said, though she herself couldn't imagine abandoning one or the other of the boys because of something as uncertain and flexible and relatively unimportant as unrequited affection. She'd gone between fancying one, then the other, then both, then neither of her best mates, with some fluctuation in between. Ultimately, having them as friends was more important than having either one of them have a relationship with her in any particular way.

"So what are you doing for fun, 'Mione," Ron said, trying to be encouraging. "Are you seeing anyone?"

"No, not really." Hermione flushed red. She really  _wished_ that she could call what she did with Snape some amount of 'dating,' but was quite unable to do so. "But I do see a lot of Snape, though."

"Wait," Ron said, stunned. "What?"

"Oh, you didn't know?" Hermione said, though of course she knew Ron didn't. She wanted act casual about the whole thing, knowing that Ron still harbored a great deal of hatred for Snape. "Snape's alive. Came back to do research here. He and I are…" she paused. "Friends? I guess?"

"Hermione," Ron said, emotional. "I forbid you to see that man as a friend."

"Well, too bad," Hermione said, "you definitely don't have a say in who I see as a friend. Even when we were together, I never allowed you to define what I did with my time."

Ron rolled his eyes, aggrieved, but he knew he wasn't going to get anywhere.

"Just… Hermione? He's such a slimy git. Are you sure he's not a vampire, coming back from the dead?"

She just laughed. "He's definitely not a vampire, Ron," she scolded. "And I'll have you know that I don't intend to sit idly by while you keep on saying cruel things about him."

"What, would you stop him if he was mocking Harry and me," Ron said with a growl.

"Yes," Hermione responded, "believe it or not, as I get to know him, you and he have some real points of similarity, now that he's not running around being a double agent."

"Yeah, right," Ron said in disbelief. "Merlin, at this rate, 'Mione, next time I talk to you, you'll be engaged."

"Not likely," said Hermione firmly. "He's got a girlfriend."

"What?" Ron said, his mind clearly blown. "Snape. Has a girlfriend."

"Yeah," Hermione said, shaking her head at Ron's reaction.

"Snape has a girlfriend," Ron repeated. "Well, she better watch out." He was shaking his head. "I can tell you got the hots for him."

"Maybe a little," she admitted. "But don't you dare tell anyone."

"Oh, I was thinking of shouting it off the rooftops," he responded, still shaking his head. "'Mione, you got to know that he's a slimeball. You know I can tell. I never liked him."

"How on earth is that supposed to be a good barometer," she said with a sniff. "You started hating Viktor once we started dating."

"But that's because I  _fancied_ him, you arse," he responded. "Come on, 'Mione, you know I care about you."

"Then let me make my own mistakes," she said, and added, despite her better judgment not to, "Don't try and be your mum."

He clouded. "Okay. Fine. I won't. Go on. Go fuck that slimeball. When he dumps your arse and come back crying to me, I'll tell you that I told you so."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron, again, he's taken. I'm not stepping into that mess."

"I can't imagine he'll be taken long," Ron said with a grumble. "He's too much of a slimy git to stay in someone's hands when there's something more attractive to look at."

"You're presuming he finds me more attractive," Hermione said, getting frustrated of this conversation.

"Who wouldn't!" Ron cried, then clarified, "Erm, what straight guy wouldn't! Or lez girl," he added, fumbling as Hermione flat-out laughed at him. "I dunno. You're attractive, 'Mione. Don't underestimate the power you have as a drop-dead gorgeous girl."

She just shook her head. "I never, and still don't, understand why you think I'm so irresistible. I don't do makeup. I don't work out. I don't eat small portions. I suck at managing my hair. And I rarely shave my legs and whatnot."

"None of those things matter," Ron said, smiling ruefully. "You don't know men, 'Mione. There's something else about you that makes men swoon over you."

"And what's that?" Hermione asked, indulging him.

"Charisma?" Ron suggested.

"Well, gee, that simplifies matters," Hermione sniped. "I'll stop taking my charisma pills. Then I won't be attractive to the likes of Snape, and I'll keep celibate until one day you preemptively dump Rodney, and you decide you want to pretend to be straight for your parents' sake, and you buy me a wedding ring. And then we'll suffer through twenty years of _where's my grandbabies_ and, in the end divorce quietly. This plan okay with you?"

"Shut up," Ron said, laughing lowly. "You know we're past that point."

"Just a reminder," Hermione said, smirking. "I'm willing to go to the mat for you, my dear, but a life-long commitment to misery isn't a simple matter of defending your best mate from a cruel world."

"We could make it work," Ron joked, though it took her a moment to see he was joking. "This place is a two-bedroom. One bedroom for you, one for me. You can fuck as many blokes as you like - or, or women, I guess - and I'll fuck as many blokes as I like. If we get bored, we can fuck each other. And someday, if Harry decides he's into the idea, we can fuck him together. Sound good?"

"Perfect," Hermione said with a hearty laugh. "Just what I envision for the rest of my life. One big house of fuckery."

"That's what we can call it," Ron said, "House of Fuckery. Or just to confuse people, we could call it House of No Fucks, for no fucks given."

"That's great, Ron," Hermione said with an indulging laugh. "Well, I'm gonna ring off now. Got loads to edit for class tomorrow."

"That's right," Ron said with a grin. "Well, call me when you end up fucking Snape."

"Which won't happen," said Hermione, trying to persuade the inkling of hope that was winding its way around her heart the more that Ron talked about it.

"And later you'll be mortified you were in such denial," Ron replied, chipper. "Go on, have fun. Bang the slimy old cock."

"I love you," she said, trying to shut him up, a smile on her face.

"I love you," he replied, "talk to you later."

He threw some ash on his end, and the floo went back to normal flames.

Hermione heaved herself up out of her chair and went to the kitchen for some water. As she passed the door, she noticed there was an origami swan next to the door, flapping its wings and looking highly annoyed at having been kept waiting.

"Oh," she said, wondering how long it had been there. It gave a little squawk, and she picked it up, whereupon it unfolded into a flat piece of paper.

 _Sleep cycle's fucked up_ , read the note.  _Dinner tomorrow instead of breakfast?_

"Yes," she said, and began to look for a quill, but as she spoke, the word formed on the page.

Whereupon the swan refolded itself, dove out of her hand, and slipped under the door without another sound.

Hermione was touched by the delightful little thing, and she got the distinct sense that it was a little attempt to show off.

Which got her to thinking - was her attraction to Snape all that obvious? She knew that Snape was aware that she liked to watch him eat. But did he realize that it extended beyond that?

If he did, what did that mean?

She wasn't sure. All she knew was, she was looking forward to dining with him without the obstruction of class terminating their time together.

She wondered what would happen instead.


	11. polyamory, 1st kiss

The fantasies she had about what might happen at dinner made Hermione float all through Thursday despite herself. The students would have all gotten O's on their tests if she wasn't careful.

The one problem with meeting after the school day ended, instead of before it started, was that she was somewhat at the mercy of the students who attended her office hours.

This meant she was running later than she would have liked to meet with Snape. Then again he'd never specified a time. But the Great Hall served dinner at 7, so she wasn't able to get rid of her students until the gong rang.

"Aren't you coming?" asked one of the more clingy students, who seemed to want to keep bending Hermione's ear on the way there.

And Hermione, being the ever-enthusiastic young teacher she was, let her ear be bent for a full half hour as the 11-year-old sobbed about being socially isolated from the other people in his house.

After dismissing the child with a hug, a tchotchke from her desk-drawer (she had a bunch of cute toys from George's shop ready for this exact kind of occasion), and a promise to make another appointment, Hermione raced up the stairs to the teacher's wing, two at a time.

Snape was reading comfortably, leaning back in his chair and nibbling on bread and butter when she flew in the door. He looked up at her expectantly, looking for all the world like a landed English gentleman with little else to do than sit and enjoy the simple hedonistic pleasures of life.

"You're late," he said with the slightest scold in his voice.

"Were you worried I wouldn't come?" asked Hermione, feeling for all the world as if she'd stepped into a Victorian novel. Indeed, Snape looked slightly more dapper than usual, with a satin cravat and almost-skintight waistcoat with buttons that ran the entire length of his torso, from his succulent double chins to the smiling lower curve of his stomach.

He looked scornful, but didn't look at her. "Of course not." But she felt like he protested a little too forcefully.

The room was lit by candles under frosted glass, which lent the room a further antiquated air. Usually in the light of the morning, she didn't notice these details. Now, however, she looked down at what she was wearing herself. This morning - or, at least, last time she'd awoken from her time-turner nap - had been one of those mornings where the thing she'd put on was a bit more fancy than it'd looked on the hanger, but when it was on, she decided it looked so good she couldn't take it off.

Generally, in the school environment, her garb was conservative, taking a leaf out of McGonagall's book. This garment was no exception, but it  _was_ particularly lovely. A high collar, dark green silk brocade, tiny vestigial buttons along the collar that made a line down to her narrow wrist. Her hair was pulled back partly by a clip, just enough that it looked casual - she didn't have enough time to do the laborious task of straightening out all the curls with a flat-iron.

The one drawback of this particular dress was that it required a corset. So she was wearing one. With its aid, her middle was readjusted according to the needs of the garment, belly thrust low below the waist, breasts popping up, waist cinched as tightly as she could get with the aid of a doorknob to yank the laces into submission. She ultimately felt very sexy, though in retrospect it might not have been the best choice of outfit for eating herself silly in.

"You look fabulous," Hermione said, sitting and taking a piece of bread. "Just fabulous."

"Same to you," he said, folding his book and lazily tossing it onto the couch with a sweep of his arm. "What's the occasion?"

She was taken aback, having assumed that he'd dressed up for this dinner, and having assumed that he would assume the same.

It took her a moment to notice the silent peals of mirth in his eyes as he made eye contact with her. He was toying with her.

"Oh, no particular reason," she responded loftily, and grinned back at him. "Just dinner with a friend."

"I see," he said, running a hand absentmindedly - or was it? - up and down the buttons of his stomach. "Just a friend," he repeated carefully.

"Yeah, I mean," Hermione went on, "he's got a girlfriend, so, you know."

He looked back at her archly. "Have you spoken with him about the nature of his relationship with said girlfriend?"

She felt a twist in her lower abdomen. "Not in so many words," she responded.

Continuing to stroke the brocade of his waistcoat with one hand, in such a way that looked like he was truly enjoying it, he heaved out of his chair and walked over to the mantel to stare into the fire, his other hand behind his back.

"What if his relationship with said girlfriend was…flexible?"

Hermione felt a jolt of excitement thrill her veins.

"Erm. What would such a thing mean?" she asked, realizing her legs were trembling as though she were very cold.

He turned around and looked her in the eye, seeming to assess whether or not he should proceed. He did.

"You might ask him if, in an ethical and sensitive fashion, he was interested in pursuing an additional relationship with you."

"What," Hermione said, finding her breath was slipping away from her. "Like… an open marriage?"

He smiled long-sufferingly. "Sans the marriage, yes. Polyamory?"

She sat there thinking for a moment. She'd joked occasionally about  _menage-a-trois_ with Ron, as well as the possibility of them engaging covertly in an open marriage. But the idea of pursuing a relationship with a person who was already committed to someone else… that felt different.

What if Snape  _was_ the slimy git that Ron imagined? She wondered briefly if this was the sort of thing that married men used to convince naive girls to bed them. Polyamory. The word hung heavy in her gut.

"Uh," she said, finding her breaths were shallow and difficult, "uh."

She'd not been expecting this. If she had expected anything, it would have been along the lines of  _Erika's not real_ , or  _Erika broke up with me this morning,_ or  _Erika's so far away, how about we keep each other company._ Honestly, any of those would have been better choices if he was planning on cheating on Erika with her.

Still, she was in doubt about the offer's authenticity. She didn't have any frame of reference for this.

"Is this a trick?" she asked. "I… I find it hard to believe that two people who love each other that way would agree to have sex with other people as part of their schema."

Snape was clearly disappointed, and sat down again.

"A moment," he said, and clapped his hands to summon Lowly. "Let's order. I'm starved."

Lowly showed up, bobbing brightly, and Snape didn't look up once as he ordered. If Hermione thought he ate a lot in the mornings, she was dumbfounded by the amount he ordered tonight. Two kinds of pasta (red and white sauces), lobster bisque, a whole roasted chicken with trimmings, an entire steak and kidney pie, a large quantity of rice biryani, nicoise salad, fish and chips, and cucumber salad. His selection was haphazard, almost fatalistic, as if he were ordering a cocktail of poisons without attention to what they were - apparently, the larger the quantity, the greater the likelihood of one of them successfully killing him.

Hermione looked at him in awe as she opened her mouth to order for herself, and she chosen a creamy, heavy pasta and some lobster bisque of her own, followed by cucumber salad.

They soon sat there, effectively drooling at the amount of food that was headed their ways.

"Can you really eat all that?" Hermione asked, thoroughly distracted from the problem at hand.

He just smiled, pressing his lips tightly together, and said succinctly, "We'll see."

Hermione closed her eyes and thought about how deliciously fat Snape was going to look after this meal - she knew he was in danger of bursting the buttons of his waistcoat, which were already straining.

But, ahem. She needed to sort out what this whole  _polyamorous_  thing meant.

So, taking another bit of bread, she chewed thoughtfully and asked, "So tell me about what it means, that you're  _polyamorous._ " She pronounced the word carefully, and Snape smiled a little at her.

"She had a serious boyfriend before we met," Snape said. "She lives with him now. His name is Jean-Raoul."

"Jean-Raoul?" Hermione asked, and then nodded, as she filed this away. "I see. Continue."

Snape shrugged. "There's not that much to say. I was dating a girl but I hadn't deactivated my online profile from a dating site. I got a message from Erika asking her if I was interested in meeting. We coordinated, and she showed up, and I was intrigued by her - far more than by the other girl I had been dating for the past month. She was beautiful, vivacious, flirtatious, and drove me wild the moment I set eyes on her. And she was also interested in me, even though she already had a boyfriend."

He smiled, looking down into his glass of wine, which Lowly had poured before leaving.

"She didn't  _need_ a lover to make her life complete. If that had been the case, she'd be entirely set. She and Jean-Raoul had three years of solid relationship behind them, two years of which were poly in nature. She explained to me: she didn't need someone to love to make her life complete. What she  _did_ need was variety, and the additional stimulation of meeting new people. And the freedom to pursue romantic endeavors with them if she chose to. And - well - you can imagine why this appealed to me."

"Tell me," said Hermione. She had no intention of letting down her guard until she knew everything there was to know about the situation.

"What else," Snape said, "but the idea that someone would choose to be with me when they had no objective  _need_ to be with someone. At some points of my life, I would have accepted anyone who threw themselves at me, no matter their reasons for wanting to be with me. But at the point where Erika and I began to date, I had already played the lovelorn sap a few times - Lily being the greatest example, of course - and was fairly sick of it. It was a pattern that wasn't worth repeating, and since she was interested in dating me because she genuinely thought me interesting… well, that was what I wanted. I wanted to be appreciated for myself, not for what I could bring to the table in a relationship, so to speak."

He sighed and relaxed into his chair, sipping his wine. "She's wonderful," he said, "and she really helped me get to the...better-balanced place where I am today. I think she is my best friend, really, in this dismal world we live in. But I suppose I should clarify," he said gracefully, "she's not what you'd call my  _primary_  girlfriend."

He took a deep breath, and added, "It's easier sometimes to pretend she is, especially among people who don't and won't understand. But neither she nor I has any desire to actually live our lives together the way a traditional couple might."

"Who  _is_ your primary girlfriend?" Hermione asked, dreading that there was yet another woman in Snape's heart.

His response was anticlimactic. Feigning ambivalence, he held up his glass to the light and swirled it. The rosy color fell onto the table. "No one, right now. But I would be interested in exploring you as a candidate."

Hermione felt her body grow tighter. "Erm, well." She took a deep breath. "I don't think I can give you an answer right away."

"Take your time," he drawled, "whatever happens, happens. It's taken me a month to adjust to the idea that you're not my student, and that you are, indeed, a consenting adult. It will take me even longer to get over the fact that you  _used_ to be my student, and I'm this attracted to you." He sighed. "Maybe you're still stuck in that place as well. I'm sure that if we proceed, that may cause some rifts down the line. And also," he added, though he lowered his head and let strands of loose sidebangs obscure his face, "if this is all you want to do with me - be friends - I can live with that. I think."

He took a deep breath and swallowed. "There. I think all my cards are on the table now."

She smiled at him. "I doubt it, you Slytherin," she said, sitting back and relaxing in her chair as well.

He appeared to be in pain, not looking at her directly, but peeping out at her through his hair. "So. What are your thoughts?"

"My thoughts," Hermione said, realizing that he'd just done the remarkable thing of basically giving her his heart to do with as she pleased. "I know that I wouldn't be able to live with  _just_  being friends. I think it's clear that there's something too magnetic happening here to ignore. I admit that I don't know what to do. I don't exactly have enough information to make a conclusion towards having a relationship with you or… or not. But I do think that I want to. I just don't know what to make of this. I thought, truly, you were unable to engage with me in this way."

"Despite all my… erm… flirting?" he said, appearing to be on the verge of laughing nervously.

She nodded. "Gryffindor. Too trusting."

"Fair enough." He took a deep breath, his stomach heaving visibly. "So, it didn't occur to you that there might be the possibility of engaging with me romantically at all."

"No," Hermione said, "at least not ethically."

"But you wanted to," he clarified. "That much was evident."

"I mean," Hermione said, flushing to her roots, "I wouldn't have probably if you looked the way you had when I was in school."

It was his turn to blush. "R-really?" He rubbed his eyes deliberately, and opened them wide. "So. Wait. If I were in the best shape of my life, I wouldn't have been attractive to you?"

"I… I guess?" Hermione said, feeling herself tremble. "I mean, it's not exactly something I knew until I saw you at the end of August. I'd had a crush on you while I was in school, but it was different, you know?"

"So," he clarified, "in my current...shape...you find me exponentially more attractive than as the lithe, well-exercised man I was back then."

"That's what I'm saying, isn't it?" Hermione responded, swallowing hard against her less than ladylike reaction tightening in her cervix.

He shook his head in wonderment. "I'm so surprised," he said, his throat tight, "and I'm ever so pleased. Because I like myself better this way as well. But the reaction is far from universal, particularly among women."

"Isn't it weird," Hermione said, "how much importance society places on thinness? It's not exactly logical. Sure, from a biological standpoint, I guess it's harder to run from danger if you're fat, but at the same time, isn't it nice to have the  _luxury_  of being fat? Isn't it nicer to know you'll likely never have to run from danger again?"

"Yes," he said, and he picked up his napkin, lowered his head, and dabbed at his eyes. "It's someone else's problem now. Not mine."

Hermione felt a rush of tenderness. She got up, stepped over to him, and, hesitantly, drew his hair away from his face.

"I don't know what this means, yet," she said, crouching to meet him at eye level, "but I'd like to kiss you."

His eyes were glassy, but the smile on his face was genuine. "Please do."

So she did.

And it was wonderful.

 


	12. honors seminar

They broke away from each other reluctantly, but with promises in their eyes.

In the meantime, Lowly had snuck in and out, filled their wineglasses, plated their dinners, and departed without a sound.

"Well, I guess we can eat," Hermione said, looking at the spread. Her nose was accosted happily by the wonderful tapestry of smells.

"Sit closer," Snape said, and with a flick of his wrist he moved her chair from being across the table to being perpendicular to him.

She sat back down in it gently without an objection -  _All the better to watch you chew, my dear_  - and picked up her fork.

"So," Snape was saying, as he elegantly sliced the meat from the chicken bones. "Have you ever had a crush on more than one person at once?"

"I… I actually have," said Hermione, feeling a little sad at having lost Harry with the whole Ron-being-gay thing.

Snape took a bite, swallowed, and prepared his next one, almost daintily. "Wouldn't you prefer to live in a world where dating both of them was more… accepted than not?"

"Well," Hermione said ruefully, "I'd have liked the chance, but what about jealousy?"

Snape chuckled. "If I'm not mistaken, you're thinking of Potter and Weasley."

"They're my best mates," Hermione responded sharply, "and I love both of them, in their ways."

Snape smiled resolutely. "I'll try not to judge you. How are they both?"

Hermione sighed. "Harry's married, Ron's in love with a Quidditch star, we're pretending I dumped Ron instead of the other way round, to keep his family from knowing that he's gay."

"That's...intense," Snape said, looking more amused than anything. "So you set yourself up against the wrath of Molly Weasley for him. How formidable."

Hermione shrugged. "Ron's preferred plan was for us to get married and have babies and pretend we actually enjoy fucking each other, and for me to let him go fuck dudes on weekends, and presumably for me to go fuck girls, because even though he professes to be gay, he doesn't want anyone else's dick inside me."

"I hope you don't pay attention to him in that respect," Snape said cooly, "Because otherwise that would be a significant problem for a relationship with me, if we are to form one."

"Oh, of course," Hermione said cheerfully. "If we become an item, I fully intend to fuck you. Quite a bit, actually."

"Good," Snape said, spots of color appearing on his cheeks, and he began to dive more heartily into the chicken trimmings of sauteed spinach, carrots, and onions.

Hermione poked her fork at a clove of garlic on his plate. "Can I have?"

"...yes," he said, his mouth full, and he swallowed. "But you can only have vegetables from my plate, you understand me?"

He added, with a grimace, "And potatoes. Fucking hate potatoes. Have all you want of those, if I'm so unfortunate as to receive them by accident."

Hermione decided to wait to prove about this aversion to potatoes, and kept her fork to herself, and twisted linguini around it. She was regretting not having gotten chicken in her pasta.

"If you want something of mine that's more substantial," Snape added, seeing her look, "order some for yourself."

Chided, Hermione nodded, and grabbed another clove of garlic from his chicken.

In response, he smiled at he and pushed the chicken towards her. "Well, I guess I can share. I don't think I can finish all this food, though I wonder if between the two of us, we can."

Hermione flushed again, and took several choice bits of chicken breast and thighs.

Snape pulled a large bowl of rice biryani towards him and began to eat steadily.

"One of the great advantages of living at Hogwarts again," he said dreamily, digging at his rice, "is the unlimited quantity and the incomparable quality of the food." He swallowed bites of the light biryani as fast as he could (and it was very fast, considering it was fluffy, oily rice, which he seemed to suck down his hungry gullet without much effort at all). "I admit, I dreamed about coming back here just to gorge myself. After so many years of living here, paying for every meal in the outside world was beginning to grate on me."

"I'd say the same," Hermione said, "but I was rolling in the dough at my Ministry job - no, don't look at me like that, I wasn't on the public advocate's office's payroll, there was some dodgy tax stuff going on - so going to elite London restaurants taught me better than to think that Hogwarts' food was the best on earth."

"To each their own," Snape said, toasting her with a spoonful of rice, "but I think it tastes all the better for being free."

"I'll grant you that," Hermione said with a smile, and finished her pasta, pushing the brimming bowl of bisque into her line of reach.

She sipped it with her spoon and nearly melted at the warm buttery goodness of it. "Mmm," she breathed, "this is really excellent."

Then, inspired, she took Snape's spoon and dipped it into his soup, and took it to his lips on his behalf.

He was clearly intrigued, and his face flushed red. But he swallowed the rice in his mouth and accepted the spoon without hesitation. "Mmm," he said, sitting back in his chair and putting two hands on his massive, increasingly-taut belly. "More, please."

Hermione was tickled pink to feed him the fatty brew, and he accepted several more bites of it, but eventually shook his head and picked up his fork again.

"Two things," he said, then amended, "no, three. First, that was lovely. I liked it a lot. Your interest in seeing me eat is… uncommonly exciting."

Hermione flushed. He also flushed, and cleared his throat to hide his emotion.

"Second," Snape said, "I prefer to save the heavier foods for last. If I can resist them. They are satiative, make one feel fuller faster. My preferred method is: carbohydrates first, with some proteins over time, and then as much heavy food as I can stomach."

Hermione nodded. "Understood," she said, pushing the bowl away.

"Third," he said, and he leaned forward, "I'd like to ask you a favor… if you could touch my stomach when you're feeding me, that would be...good. And, erm," his voice dropped lower, "talk about how big it's getting?"

"Sure, that's amenable to me," Hermione said brightly, and she gently wrestled the biryani spoon from his hand into hers. Then, as she scanned the table, she realized there was a serving spoon that might better serve the purpose of stuffing him. She grabbed the silver serving spoon and dipped it into the rice, brought it up sideways to Snape's face, and bid him, "Eat."

As obedient as a hog at a full trough, he did indeed eat from the spoon, his tongue sneaking out and lapping it out of the basin like a dog.

You can imagine what Hermione was thinking about as she watched him licking that rice so diligently, excitedly, and gently out of that spoon. (Hint: she wasn't imagining him licking something else out of a spoon - instead out of another kind of crevice.)

Highly aroused, she touched his rounding stomach and rubbed it tenderly as she fed him, and he moaned into his food whenever she touched a particularly sensitive spot.

Soon, though, he needed a break, and she scooted herself back slightly, and he sipped his wine and looked incredibly comfortable and portly, with one hand resting on the shelf his tummy made, the other holding his wine with elegant fingers.

"So jealousy," Hermione said, as he stifled a burp in his napkin, "Don't you get jealous of Jean-Raoul?"

He shrugged. "Jealous of Erika's time, certainly. She's incredibly busy. At first I was a bit afraid that her saying she was busy was her brushing me off. But she introduced me to one of her other non-primary lovers, and she assured me that Erika is truly just busy."

"How many partners does she have?" Hermione exclaimed, feeling horrified at the idea of talking with a metamour.

"Erm," Snape said, "Not entirely sure. I asked her at one point, and she gave me a list of people she counts herself as currently having some kind of relationship with. Granted, I'm closer to her than most of the people on the list - about half are people she only sees at conferences. But as far as a  _number_ goes, I think it's around fifteen, with fluctuations as relationships change and such."

Hermione frowned. "So she hooks up with people at conferences?"

"Yes," Snape said with a shrug. "Though granted, this phenomenon of bonking at conferences isn't that unusual - this is actually something that I've known about for some time. I just didn't realize that it was often a  _poly_  thing. Instead, in my most jealous days, I thought it was just some large network of deviants that complicitly got together for orgies or something. Which, they do," he mused, "but I thought it was a great deal more sinister and exclusive than I've learned since."

"So, Erika has more partners than you can keep track of," Hermione said. "Would that be something I could expect out of a relationship with us?"

His face became stony at the proposal. "Not at all," he said, his voice nearly a growl. "I'm too possessive for that. If we start dating, Hermione," he said, carefully testing out using her first name, "I'd prefer a  _much_  smaller circle between the two of us."

She smiled back. "I see. So you do have jealousy."

"It's… a different set of expectations,that I'd have," he responded. "I don't want to restrict you, of course. But I'm a lot less…"

He sighed, struggling to find words. Then he restarted.

"...I've already lost a lot to carelessness and errors," he said, not looking at her, "And while I'm excited to share a form of living with you that's vibrant and has the potential to enhance our overall life satisfaction, social support system networks, and all that rot, I can't be as carefree as Jean-Raoul and Erika. They have their form of poly. It happens to be compatible with my relationship with Erika. But I know that my own practice of poly looks different from theirs.

"And especially with...erm...you," he said, glancing up and glancing down again, "I'm not interested in something casual with you. That's because, on my own part, I don't care for casual relationships. But," he added, his voice getting lower, "I also know that I wouldn't want you to be in too many casual relationships either."

"Because of jealousy?" asked Hermione.

"To put it plainly," Snape said with a grimace. He didn't like to admit it, and he stabbed at the chicken again. He'd gotten most of the meat off it, so Hermione pushed forward the first plate of pasta.

"Thanks," he said, not glancing at her, tucking away a good forkful.

"Welcome," she said. She sat there thinking, listening to him chew, and she sipped her soup some more. "Yeah," she said at last, "I'm glad you said all that. It does make me feel like what you're saying is actually something that might work for me."

"I'm...glad," he said, looking up and smiling at her, still looking worried.

"What else are you thinking?" asked Hermione, somewhat puzzled. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Oh, no," Snape responded, taking another few bites, "I just… well…"

It took another reassuring glance from Hermione and a few bites more to get his nerve to say, "I was...worried?" He seemed to be trying the word out. "I… yes, I was worried that you were late today. It still hasn't shaken off."

"I am sorry," Hermione said gently. "There was a student."

Snape looked at her quizzically.

"Student in tears," she amended. "Tell me, do you often get first-years with social isolation issues? Or was that just 11-year-old me?"

Snape looked stricken, and stabbed another bit of chicken meat. "I didn't know you were one of them," he said. "If you'd brought it up, I'd have taken care of it."

"How?" Hermione asked, "because I don't see the other teachers doing anything else other than saying 'go join a club!,' which is profoundly unhelpful as you might guess."

"I had my methods," Snape said, "and actually, I'm ashamed that I haven't thought to reinstate them. I don't know...who took over head of Slytherin House?"

"Some tosser named Reginald Floss," Hermione said off-handedly. "I haven't spoken with him. He's not as ancient of blood as the Malfoys or Blacks, but he's from an older family, so it seems."

"I know the name," Snape said with a tone of disgust. "Taught Reginald when he was in his last three years. He's…" He paused. "Let's just say, I hope he's changed as much as I have, with the war."

"I can't speak to that," Hermione reiterated, "never talked to him."

"I see," Severus said, and went on, "So what I did is fairly simple, though honestly it should be school policy: all students in Slytherin house, when I was head, had randomly-assigned study groups that met continuously throughout the year, with the requirement of meeting at least twice or three times a week during study period."

He took a few bites, swallowed, and went on, "To deal with administrative duties, I assigned a house head boy and girl to manage, and whenever an issue came up that was beyond the seventh-years, they came to me. For the most part, these groups ran themselves. And whenever a student from another house was brought to my attention, I gave them a role in one of the groups."

"Brilliant," Hermione said sadly. "I wish that I'd spoken with you, though I'm not sure I would have wanted to be friends with Slytherins."

"Is that so?" he said, somewhat amused. "Think back, Granger. I doubt your beliefs about the houses were as firm back then. I think you might have been more receptive, if you were as lonely as you say you were. What might have mattered more to you - what the other houses said about Slytherin malice, or concrete evidence against this presumed truth?"

"Besides," he added for good measure, "we were the much-maligned house. No other house withstood so much abuse from the rest of the world. I think you might have been sympathetic to our… underdog status… same as any other marginalized group you care about."

Knowing full well he had won, he threw his hair back proudly.

She nodded gravely, thinking about the little girl she'd been, crying in the bathroom. "You know, I think you are right." She sighed. "So, I had no idea you were a fan of social interventions," she said, finding herself feeling more impressed by him than ever. "What inspired it?"

He looked at her darkly. "What else but creating the resource I wish I'd had?"

She nodded solemnly. She thought of him so much as being part of the tapestry of Slytherin that she did not often consider that he might not have fit in well there, either .

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be bloody sorry," he snapped, not looking at her, stabbing his food viciously. "You didn't do it to me. If you must pity me for anything, pity me for the things I couldn't have changed, not the things that were a result of my poor choices and unfortunate circumstances. I'd prefer you feel pleased that I did something about it."

"I am," Hermione said. "Very pleased." She just looked at him until he looked up at her, and saw how softly she was gazing. His face became less strained.

"What on earth were you doing in the public advocate's office," he muttered, "your skills were certainly wasted there."

Not sure how to respond, Hermione let her fingers wander up to her hair, and she played with it a little, as she thought. Snape continued eating, though slower than before, as he seemed to be growing full. He pushed away the empty plate of pasta, gave up on the fairly-picked-dry chicken, and settled the steak-and-kidney pie in front of him.

"So since neither of us is head of house," Hermione said, "what do you suppose we should do to help create more social connections between the students?"

He appeared to give the question all the consideration it was due. "Two possibilities that might be effective," he said slowly, unearthing the meat from the pie with a practiced air. "First, we might lobby Professor Floss to do what I did. All the structures are there. The sixth and seventh-years at least will remember the system from their first and second years. Indeed," he said, finding himself keenly interested, "I'd like to see how those students have turned out, and what their thoughts are regarding the study groups."

Hermione nodded. "I think it'd be worth a try. But I think he might object on the grounds that implementing this mid-year would be difficult."

"Not if we pretend it's part of our larger plan," Severus said, smirking.

He took a deep breath, and paused, letting the food settle in his stomach. "If I remember correctly, my last Slytherin head girl wrote some excellent modules for discussion, though many of them were inconsistent, without any real logical flow, and didn't precisely jive."

Three quiet bites later, and he said, "I can't tell you how  _nice_ it is to talk about pedagogy and know that there's an actual chance that I can do the things I want to do."

"Instead of having your attention potentially drawn at any moment to the duties of a more sinister nature?" Hermione said, feeling the grief on his behalf. "I can understand that frustration. As it is, I focus myself so wholly and completely on my passions that I feel I don't have enough time to do the things I intend to do, without that obstacle."

"Time is a luxury," Severus said. "And for a while - before your cohort, because that's when everything turned for the worse - time was something I had an abundance of. I worked my ass off in order to keep my mind out of the darker places it was wont to wander. I know I was a beast of a man for most of the time you were at school," he said sullenly, "but I swear to you, I wasn't quite as bad before Mr. Potter arrived and the war shifted out of dormant."

"I mean," he went on, "I don't know what you thought of your seventh year, once you came back, but I assume it was much more quiet and uneventful than your other years."

"It was, Hermione said with a laugh. "It didn't quite feel the same, somehow."

Snape nodded sagely. "That's how it was before the war, before Quirrell showed his ugly face and the Dark Lord returned. While Dumbledore put on a placid, unconcerned front to the school about the whole matter, he was sending me hither and thither on personal errands of increasing levels of urgency. Of course, I took out the stress on the wrong set of people - the students."

He sighed deeply. "I particularly wish I had been able to convince Albus to remove Potter from his blood family. I personally feel that his insistence on the power of blood magic was a lot of twaddle; I myself know that the power of a loving environment provides so many other tangible and rewarding benefits that, in my professional view, would far outweigh the importance of any protection that blood might provide."

He grimaced. "I almost suspect that he intentionally wanted Potter to stay in that environment for other… more unsavory reasons."

A chill settled on the room, as Snape's words fell on ears that were highly attuned to this exact problem.

"I wanted to do more, too," Hermione said softly. "I tried to convince Harry to come and stay with my parents and me - they would have loved having him. But he always just relied on Dumbledore's good faith. I wrote him loads of letters, but I felt like they weren't that helpful."

"I argued with Albus for hours," Snape responded, sinking deeper into his chair, "but I never could manage him to change his mind. And unfortunately, Albus never argued out loud. Instead he spent so much time going 'he's got Lily's eyes! he's got James Potter's physique and bravado!' that it clouded my judgment where the boy was concerned."

He looked completely and utterly miserable.

"Before Potter came to school, I just pretended he didn't exist. But then Albus started priming me, in the guise of 'reminding me' to 'not let my feelings get in the way of my professionalism.' But I think his attempts were not in good faith," he said, shaking his head. "I didn't realize this until a year or so ago. I… I hestiate to say this, because I don't want to create the sense that I'm trying to excuse my actions by attributing them to some external locus of control…"

He took a breath, and looked at Hermione as if for permission to finish his thought. She nodded, supportive.

"..I felt like Dumbledore was deliberately trying to make me hate the child. A child that, otherwise, I would have been happy to pretend didn't exist."

He shrank into himself even more, and pushed his plate away from him.

"Now, granted," Snape said carefully, "he was incredibly supportive of Potter having you and Weasley as friends. But whenever an adult started to become involved in Potter's life, Albus did his best to keep them apart. I saw it several times. With Black - now granted, I'd probably have made that call as well, because Black was unprincipled and a bully same as James was - and with Remus Lupin."

"He had Hagrid," Hermione said.

"Yes," Snape said, pithily, "but Hagrid wasn't exactly a powerful wizard. A powerful friend, sure, but he didn't exactly have the skills or desire to, for example, take over the wizarding world. A harmless friend," he said with a smile.

Hermione began laughing. "What," she said, "you think Dumbledore was trying to break a future Tom Riddle?"

"Perhaps," Snape said, a little ashamed. "I don't know for sure. Maybe. Why else would he insist on giving the boy so many unreasonable expectations, forcing him to go back to an abusive home every fucking summer, and putting him in close proximity with someone who hated him as much as I did for over a year?"

Oh. Hermione had forgotten about the Occulmency lessons. She realized that snape probably knew Harry better, on some level, than she ever had or could.

"Granted," he said, "i felt like albus was using those lessons as a punishment for me, which i still think is true. But I was so,  _so_ angry," Snape said. "I wasn't safe for him. But Albus insisted that I work with the boy anyway. Can you imagine," he said, shaking his head. "Being in this school skews your perspective of reality.

Once I was out of it, I realized what lunacy Dumbledore was guilty of. And I can't help but hold my actions against myself. What if I had been able to see the similarities and not the differences between my own upbringing and Potter's? Who knows," Snape said, looking at the floor with undue interest, "maybe he and I would have found support in each other. Or something."

Hermione felt a shiver of sadness and empathy. "I don't know how to respond," she said, "I'm listening, but I don't know what to tell you. It's a terrifying thought, that Dumbledore might have wanted to cripple Harry so badly."

"It is," Snape said, "but do you doubt it? If he felt that it was for the greater good of the wizarding world, do you doubt for one moment that Dumbledore would have gone that far?"

And this, Hermione could not argue.

"I don't doubt it," she said, anger rising in her throat. "I don't at all."

"But no matter what I said or did," Snape said, "I always felt like Mr. Potter deserved it," he said with an eyeroll. "God. What a way to lose perspective. But I don't know how Albus could have expected otherwise."

"He should have lightened your load," Hermione affirmed.

"Yes," Severus replied, "and he didn't." He pushed away the remains of the steak-and-kidney pie, in favor of the second plate of pasta with red sauce.

Hermione was looking a little deeper than at Snape's change of food, however. Not wanting to depress him, she kept this thought to herself.

_It looks like Dumbledore did a good job of breaking you, too, Severus Snape. And I don't think that was an accident, either._

"But all this is old news," he added, shaking away his own thoughts. "Let's go back to talking about this student."

Hermione shrugged and allowed herself to move out of this intense topic. "I like study groups," she said , "but what other ideas do you have? You said you had two."

"Yes," he responded, enthusiastically, pulling the plate back towards him. She wasn't sure if he was doing this unconsciously or consciously, but it seemed to be a clear indication of his mood. "The other one that comes to mind is to just make such a study group a requirement of your class. One component of this: the hated group project."

Hermione groaned. "No," she said , "I really genuinely hate them. They always result in the smart ones taking charge and the rest goofing off."

"I see you have some experience in this department," Snape said with a laugh that conveyed all too well his own familiarity with the phenomenon. "Well, that's fine. Just thought I would mention it."

"That's not fair," Hermione said, swatting him flirtatiously. "Give me another option. That one doesn't count."

"I suppose," he said, voraciously swallowing a mouthful of pasta, "that you could make this a non-graded study group. Requirements entail presenting once a week in class on a topic. Demand a routine set of objectives to be met. Just provide enough laxness in the assignment to foster some idleness, and hopefully some bonding."

"That's an idea," she said. But then something came to mind. "I think I have another potential solution."

"Tell me," he said, his eyes sharp.

"I don't know what you might think of this," she said, "but I think that, for those particularly gifted students, it would be a great thing to institute an honors seminar."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

It boggled her mind that he'd never heard of such a thing.

"It's a Muggle thing," she said, "a class for academically strong students to join together. Just not based on N.E.W.T.S. It's based on raw academic ability, which means it includes some students who are too bored to bother with doing well on their studies in normal classes."

He furrowed his brow. "So what do you envision?"

She took a few significant bites of pasta. "I envision," she said, grandly, "a space for students of every house. A space for those who, based on teacher assessment early in the first year, are identified as the brightest and the best, but who also are the most likely not to fit in with their peers. A space where these students can have a meeting of minds, so to speak, and learn that intelligence transcends house systems." She sighed. "I went to a private school and took honors classes from almost preschool onward. My parents were shocked that there was no gifted student track at Hogwarts, though I convinced them that it was worth sending me there because everyone at my school was as smart as I was."

She laughed, thinking back on it. "It was worth it, but just barely. They'd never have let me come here if they knew the truth."

"I'd like to ask more about that later," Snape replied warmly. "So what you're saying is: we group together different subjects, why not also group together different people based on aptitude, outside of these subjects."

"Yes," Hermione said, "from a lower level than fifth year. Because it seems a lot of the social benefits just don't happen when you have this kind of gifted class so late in the academic track."

"I do wonder if in the past, that was what the house system is intended to serve as," Severus said. "Truth be told, it always puzzled me why the founders thought it was a good idea to group people based on similar personality traits but not things like academic skills. It seems an unfortunate way of distributing talent in lieu of concentrating it and making that talent better. But, if the house system did function like a series of subject-specific houses," he realized, squinting at her as if to assess her reaction, "would that dismantle your theory regarding the dual personalities?"

Hermione smiled. This man was so smart and attractive. What was she doing just sitting with him here, talking to him?

"How about," she said with a smile, "we change the subject. I'm starting to lose focus." With a swoop of her hand, her fingers landed on the top of his overstuffed belly and went lower, lower, lower, until she felt the firm bulge of his cock beneath his trousers. Which trousers, incidentally, were unbuttoned (not surprising, given the quantity of food he had eaten this evening).

"Oh are you?" He asked with a bit of a grin. "Or are you just dodging the question?"

She just smiled in response.

"Well," he said, "I just want to finish my thought." He paused, seeming to wait for her permission.

"Go ahead," she said, retracting her hand, and she smiled at him.

He smiled back, benevolently. "Suffice it to say that, I think I would be excited to have an honors seminar. I think it would fill an unmet need at Hogwarts, and I think that it could be potentially very beneficial for students who are lacking friends and are otherwise spread out across houses."

"But let's not forget," Hermione said, "that this would ideally not involve more work for the poor dears, but merely access to a higher level of thinking than they're used to."

"This I like, quite a lot," he responded with utter delight. "But let's stop now," he said and gestured for her to come closer. "Now," he said with a low rumble, "may I ask you a highly unprofessional and ungentlemanly question, Miss Granger?"

"Certainly you may ask, but I might not answer," she responded with a smile. She knew there was little she wouldn't answer honestly at this point in their exciting new relationship - since really, the questions about poly that she still had notwithstanding, it was clear they were at least going to try out some form of relationship - but he seemed to play well against her occasional coquettish affectations.

"Why on earth," he said, leaning forward, "did you wear a corset to dinner?" He hesitantly advanced his hand to touch her abdomen, though he hovered over the fabric until she gently pushed his hand forward to meet the brocade.

"Seems a bit silly for coming to dinner in," he went on, "Like wearing a swimsuit to visit Finland in winter."

"Also it's a little strange for someone who likes her own fat so much," Hermione said with a laugh.

"Yes, that also," he said.

"It just makes me look sexy," she said, "moves my bulges from one place to another in interesting ways."

"As long as it's not a matter of trying to look thinner," he said, throatily, "I approve."

His fingers landed on the curve of steel boning that made her waist curve succulently, and Hermione felt her breath suddenly intake in pleasure.

"Yes," she whispered "touch me more there."

He turned his chair abruptly and began to grab her stomach fat on either side with both of his hands. While it was tightly compacted, he could still grab it under the cloth.

"Yes," she murmured at this touch, feeling nearly faint with desire.

Then, with an expert motion, he reached around her, lifted her from her chair into his lap, and drew her close. Given Hermione's own heavying build, it was evident that for an "unexercised" man, he was still fucking strong.

"Oh my," she whispered, and kissed him deeply.

 


	13. sexytimes

She was unable to maintain her composure after kissing him. Instead a burning heat consumed her, and she wrapped herself around him. She was fully seated on his lap, her ample rump hanging off precariously, her head gently on his soft shoulder, and one arm slyly encircling his fine wide waist from the front, the other sneaking around his back. She was delighted to find she was completely unable to meet her hands around him, even though it might have just been a result of the angle.

 

On his part, Snape held onto her in all the right places - his legs were spread wide to accommodate the way her limbs draped over him, one of his hands held on tightly to her arse, supporting her back with his arm, and his other hand rested on top of her growing belly.

 

“Steady now,” he said, though it was clear by the hoarseness of his voice that he was barely holding himself back as well. His hand fondled nice soft mound of her softening belly, which was barely held in place by her corset. “You wouldn’t want to rush into things, particularly since at the beginning of this evening, you weren’t sure where your opinions on polyamory sit.”

 

“I still don’t know what I think of it,” Hermione said, trying to sound as reasonable as she could manage - she needed him urgently, and she wasn’t prepared to wait any longer. “But I know I want this, right now. Isn’t ‘no strings attached’ a thing?”

 

“I...erm…” Snape’s breathing was heavy, and his thumbs caressed her gently where he held her. “It’s generally not my type of thing, that’s all.”

 

“Okay,” Hermione said, willing to concede somewhat in order to get what she wanted, “How about we call this an empirical test to see if, at least in certain components, we’re well-suited for a long-term match?”

 

“You just want to get laid,” he replied, coldly, but the frostiness was counteracted by his holding her closer, tighter. The hand that was on her stomach moved, and grabbed onto her supportively, staking delight in squeezing the fold of her fat.

 

“And that’s okay, isn’t it?” Hermione said, whereupon he just grunted in response, putting his nose in her neck to smell in her scent. “Moreover - I’m pretty choosy about who I want to lay with.”

 

“How long has it been, for you?” Snape asked, not giving her a straight answer, but he began nibbling her ear.

 

“Almost a year,” she said, her hormones racing. “Ron and I weren’t doing so great for quite a while, and until we figured out that he was just plain-”

 

“-Stop talking about Weasley,” he said sharply, hungrily, and he dove in to kiss her lower jaw.

 

Hermione moaned with pleasure despite herself. His lips were soft, his cheeks were cleanshaven and smooth, and the way he sucked - oh! - the way he sucked gave small credibility to Ron’s vampire theory.

 

“Why,” Hermione said, toying with him. “You don’t want to be reminded that someone else has been here before?”

 

“Not my issue,” he purred, licking the base of her neck with a teasing, serpentlike strategy. “I merely want your mind to belong exclusively to me when I thrust myself into you.”

 

She felt faint and watery with desire.

 

“How will you be sure,” she said, gasping, “that you’ve completely bewitched my mind and ensared my senses?”

 

He bit back a laugh, but it was hard; his entire body shook silently as he sat there, and Hermione was pleased to see the way it moved as he convulsed, jiggling. She moved with his body, being draped over his lap and pressed against his shoulder as she was.

 

Finally he took a deep breath, and said, breathily, “I’m fairly confident in my abilities to fascinate. I’m just not sure that you know what you’re signing up for.”

 

“What am I signing up for?” she breathed, letting her hand sweep down to touch his plushy buttocks.

 

“I can’t tell you that,” he responded, “I can only show you.”

 

Whereupon he grabbed her and stood up, carefully, balancing her in his arms, and though she was clearly too heavy for him to carry comfortably, he held her close, and, with an awkward gait, carried her to the bedroom.

 

The door was shut, but a movement of his wrist changed that, and soon he dropped her into a fluffy duvet of clean, cozy white linen.

 

“Disrobe, or be disrobed,” he growled, dragging her to the center of the bed.

 

She tried to sit up, but the combination of her too-full belly and her tight corset made this impossible.

 

“Can’t,” she whispered deliriously, “you’ll have to help.”

 

“What,” he said, and she felt the bed dip as he climbed on, and soon she felt his heavy bottom against her legs, and the fullness of his excited cock (concealed though it remained in his trousers) near her pelvis as he straddled her. “Did you eat so much you can’t move?”

 

It wasn’t precisely true, but Hermione was so excited at the prospect that she didn’t bother clarifying. “Yes,” she whimpered. “Have I been bad?”

 

“Well, bad is such a relative term,” he said, stroking her belly area fondly. He remained sitting up, crouched over her.  “From some standpoints, you might be bad. But others, you might be good. Either way, you’ve eaten a ton of food tonight. But not nearly as much as you could have, my sweet.”

 

He leaned forward and kissed her neck, up and down, slowly, and it was tantalizing.

 

“I think you’ve only been bad in one way,” he said, his fingers loosening her high-collar buttons. “And I think the only bad thing you’ve done is wear that sexy corset. Now granted, it is sexy, but I have to ask - are you trying to hide the evidence of your gluttony from me, my sweet?”

 

“...Maybe,” she said, taking it seriously, but then realizing that this was a kind of play, she whimpered, “Oh, erm, yes! Yes! I admit it. I’ve been trying to keep it a secret. I’m so ashamed. I’ve been getting so fat and round. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

 

“How silly,” he said, and he continued to slowly unbutton her garment. He was nearing the bodice area, but he seemed to tire of the position and rolled out of a crouching position onto his side, where he took a few deep stabilizing breaths. She rolled so that they were looking at each other, smelling each others’ breath and nearly touching bellies.

 

“How silly,” he said again, and his hand moved to touch where the soft part of her belly squeezed out of the corset, which (she could tell, even under her dress) was starting to ride up with her movements. (It wasn’t exactly a high-quality corset.) “It’s still clear that you’re getting fatter. This restrictive thing just displaces your growing rolls to different places.”

 

He touched his fingers to undo the buttons of her dress that started from the waist, and with every one, the fabric sprang back to neutral position, revealing how much it strained to cover her. Her creamy skin - where the corset didn’t hold it back - became more and more visible with every inch, the fabric relieved of its difficult duty of covering her round torso and plumpening breasts.

 

“Yes,” he said hungrily, sitting up and surveying her in as predatorial a manner as she could imagine, “I like a girl with curves and a belly. You’re a bigger girl than most,” he said approvingly, “but not as quite as big as you could be. And clearly you want to be bigger - the way you eat, it’s apparent you’re in heaven. And here in the nice, comfortable environment of the castle, you’re swelling up to previously unknown proportions.”

 

“I just can’t stop,” Hermione moaned, her cunt fully wet at this point, “I just can’t stop eating.”

 

“It’s atthe point where I don’t know if you’re going to stop,” Snape said with a teasing lilt in his voice. “You just enjoy your food so much,” he went on, “and you don’t get any exercise at all. I wonder, if you keep up your current habits, will you eventually be so fat you can’t rise from your bed?”

 

“Perhaps,” she said, with a hoarse whisper. “How fat and lovely I would be.”

 

“Indeed,” he said, and he moved gingerly until his head was nearly at the base of her panties. She felt his breath on her cunt. Her undies were too small, and there was a nice gap of creamy, furry skin that appeared at the place where her thighs met her pubic area. She suddenly felt his tongue lick her there, on that gap of skin, in the corner of the place where her thigh fat encountered her pubic fat to form a corner of skin, and she moaned, unable to contain herself.

 

But he was just teasing her, and he too soon left that area, to rest his head face-first on that lovely growing stomach of hers.

 

“I’ve been watching,” he said, hoarsely, “the way your belly swelled with all that deliciousness sinking into it this past month. I couldn’t believe how fat you were getting, and so quickly. How much do you weigh, and how much have you gained the past month?”

 

“A mere stone,” she said with delight, “I’ve merely gained a stone.” `

  
  
  


“For a total of…?” he prompted.

 

She giggled headily, drunk on the attention. “You’re the potions master; you tell me.”

 

He looked at her quizzically. “Can’t guess unless I see you in your full splendor,” he said after a studied moment, “May I?”

 

“Please, just do it,” she said, wiggling her legs from her toes to her thighs, setting them jiggling in a most evocative manner.

 

He grinned and set about it. It was a trifle difficult to undo the front-latching buttons of her corset, but after a few tries he effectively began to get a handle on it, and snap, snap, snap, snap, they started to come undone.

 

Oh, the relief. Her belly had lines up and down it from where the boning had put pressure on her skin, and the fabric wrinkles had left their mark as well.

 

“Oh,” Snape said, breathing in the sight of her creamy, glorious tummy, and he immediately pressed his lips upon it. His hands began to roam across her wide belly, and he groaned with desire as he squished her fat, kneading it with both hands.

 

“You like it?” Hermione whimpered, enjoying the sensitive touch of his hands, which she was surprised to discover were smooth and soft, not rough at all like her father’s over-washed hands. And yet the muscles in his fingers were strong, and Hermione knew with every touch that she was ready to come over and over again.

 

“Oh yes,” he breathed, clearly swept away. He also added, “You’re not a pound under thirteen stone.”

 

“Oh, stop,” she said with a laugh. “I’m just shy of twelve.”

 

He looked at her inquiringly, and she said, “The thing is, some people have some muscle underneath their flab, and that adds extra weight. Given that the only time I get any exercise is when I’m late to dinner,” she said with a giggle, “I have none. So this -” she slapped her belly affectionately, making it wiggle, “is all, entirely, buttery fat.”

 

“Merlin,” he said with a gasp, “You look this great at less than twelve stone. Full or empty?” he asked, for clarification.

 

“Empty,” she responded, “I check right when I wake up in the morning.”

 

“Merlin,” he said, stroking her belly like an artist admiring a model, “I can’t imagine what you’ll look like in the -hopefully- many years ahead of us.” He relaxed his head on her stomach and took an almost non-sexual pose, laying on his belly and pressing his face into her flab with an air of utter adoration.

 

Hermione relaxed into the feeling, closing her eyes and wondering why on earth he must tease her so. She wanted to have him fucking her. Her mind wandered to the crude non-electric dildo she’d brought back to Hogwarts with her, and she realized that with the lift of the electronics wards ban at Hogwarts, she could finally - finally - have the pleasure of her favorite electronic toys again.

 

That aroused her even more, and so she poked Snape in his soft shoulder.

 

“So, are we fucking, or not?” she whined.

 

He gave an uproarious laugh and cried, “Patience! Thy name is not Hermione Granger,” and began to strip off his own pants.

 

She was pleased to see that they were a bit of a chore to get off.

 

“My arse is getting fat,” he said as he finally succeeded in his attempts, “I’ll need another expansion spell to get these on again.”

 

“Tell me more,” she whimpered, sitting up.

 

His face seized up in initial confusion, then relaxed into excitement. “Sorry,” he said with a gasp, “not used to it.”

 

“You seemed to be doing fine with me,” she said with a grin, but she sensed there was something more difficult for him about his own body.

 

“Yeah,” he replied, and took a deep breath, then, with an involuntary whimper, he closed his eyes and seated himself on the bed. Hermione was pleased to see he went commando, at least tonight. His member wasn’t the longest she’d ever seen - that had belonged inexorably to Viktor Krum - but oh, it was nice and thick, which was what her petite frame preferred anyway. (Krum, when he’d fucked her, had left her bleeding the next day.) It looked to be in a mid-level of excitement, and it was bobbing down as Snape tried to concentrate.

 

“I...erm,” he said, and took another breath, “I’m…”

 

He opened his eyes and glanced at Hermione, who was taking him in shyly. She was aware of her belly curving and folding upon itself in a luxurious fashion, and she was nude aside from her too-small panties. Sitting there, propping herself up on her hands, smiling at him, her hair completely a mess, she felt like a movie star in a glamor magazine.

 

He seemed to think she looked good as well. “I like that little… squished part,” he said, touching the place her abdominal fat made little rippling rolls.

 

“Take off your shirt,” she responded, “I’ll not be distracted by flattery.”

 

He looked intently at her, not sure if she’d run screaming like Christine Daae from the Phantom of the Opera, but finally he decided to give her a chance.

 

“Fine,” he said, and began to tediously, tremblingly, unbutton his straining waistcoat.

 

Hermione quickly decided this was taking too long, so she started assisting him from the bottommost curve of his belly, inching her way up until their hands met on the final button, which Snape decisively finishing with a flourish.

 

The waistcoat was relieved to retreat from its post, and its leaves hung flaccidly on either side of Snape’s enormous belly. Snape took over in undoing his shirt buttons, of which there were considerably less than he had on his waistcoat, and soon he was sitting there in front of her, slumping slightly, his tummy so broad and heavy, and it was covered with stretchmarks. His gain had been very rapid indeed, it looked to Hermione. She touched them with the softest part of her fingers.

 

“Do they hurt?” she asked.

 

“Oh, goodness no,” he said, but he looked pained in a different kind of way.

 

She withdrew her fingers and asked, “Do you like me noticing them?”

 

“I mean,” he said, and she could tell he was hyperventilating slightly, “I haven’t had anyone see me with my shirt off for years at this point.”

 

“Even Erika?” Hermione asked, surprised.

 

He nodded, looking as if he wanted the world to swallow him.

 

“Your choice, or hers?” she asked, trying hard not to sound like she was pressuring him.

 

“Mine,” he answered, and shook his head firmly, as if trying to get rid of wrackspurts.

 

“Let me clarify,” he said, focusing on his breathing, “I have my reasons why Erika hasn’t seen me shirtless in the light for a few years. I just don’t want to talk about them right now. But suffice it to say - I am deciding very specifically to reveal my body, fat and scarred as it is, to you. I realize it is much more of a turn-on when clothed.

 

“But,” he said, his eyes trained on a wrinkle of the bed some distance away from Hermione, “I don’t want to enter a relationship with you with any false illusions about what I look like. Fat is an aesthetic you indicate that you appreciate. I’m just not sure that this is an element of this aesthetic that you like. I’m not like you, with creamy, unmarred skin. My weight gain,” he said, appearing mortified, and almost as if he was regretting having taken off his shirt in the first place, “was sudden, unintentional, and unregulated. And it continues to be.

 

“I don’t know that these scars will go away, at least not quickly. And chances are, there will be more in the future. I’m sorry,” he said, sounding deeply unhappy, “I was afraid of mentioning this to you, because I was enjoying things too much. That was an error.”

 

“Oh, please,” she said, sitting up and caressing his downcast face. “Do you really think I’d choose not to date you because of fucking stretch marks, which every woman spends so much angst about post-pregnancy that there’s loads of creams and such in both the wizarding and muggle worlds?”

 

She smiled, but said firmly, as he looked up at her in awe, “Snap out of it. You’re sexually very appealing to me, stretch marks or none. I’m curious about this element of your history, but we can talk about it when you’re ready. But until then,” she said, laying back down on the bed, “just enjoy fucking me. Please.”

 

She threw back her hair and spread her legs. “Seriously. I thought you were experienced, with your polyamory and your kinkiness. Can’t you see my cunt is so tight, I can scarcely breathe?”

 

This definitely piqued his interest, and he sat a little straighter and, wordlessly, moved over to sit within arm’s reach of her nether regions.

 

“Looking at your fat gut,” she whispered viciously, “I want to straddle it and ride it until I come all over it. I love the thickness of your cock, the nice flap of flab at your pubes. It might be able to fill me up better than anyone else ever has. My vagina is just as greedy as my mouth, I guess,” she said teasingly, “and just as hungry as my belly. I crave you, Snape, and the way you look right this moment makes me want to come several times over. All over you. Stretch marks included.”

 

He seemed to take spirit at this speech, and he grabbed his member and began stroking it.

 

“Way to take ‘stroking your ego’ literally, huh,” said Hermione, and he laughed with her.

 

“Please,” he whimpered, “keep at it.”

 

“Yeah,” Hermione said, her fingers moving towards her clit, but as she did she felt Snape’s fingers get there faster, and he was flicking her and stimulating her with the same breaths as he was stimulating himself. Instead, she started grabbing at her fat stomach, caressing and slapping it alternately.

 

“You want me to get so fat, I won’t be able to move,” she whispered, and his face got a touch redder in response. “Once I’m too fat to run off, you’ll be happy to let me try fucking other dudes sometimes, but you want to know that yours will be the only one that satisfies me. So you’ll keep me here, immobilized by my own greed and sloth, and you’ll watch as men try to satisfy me, one at a time, and while they are overcome by my beauty and girth, none of them will impress or satiate me. Then once I am so frustrated, you will come in, with your nice, fat belly and thick, thick cock, and you will fuck me and feed me, and feed me and fuck me, and only then will I be able to come.”

 

Her eyes never left him, and his eyes never left her, and finally at this point he stuffed himself into her aching pussy and thrust, over and over, so forcefully and passionately. She came the moment he entered her, and kept coming, over and over, and he lasted a very few strokes before he finished inside her.

 

He pulled out and lay back, exhausted on the bed, but Hermione wasn’t done; she moaned for more relief, and after a moment he had the idea to accio a candle that had been burning, shape it with a gentle transfiguration spell, and harden it slightly, then with her assent he stuck it in her, and the warm mutable wax brought her to climax a few more times before, with a sigh of relief, she tapped him on the arm, and he stopped, breathlessly.

 

They lay there in the slightly darker room, breathing heavily together, and Snape murmured, “Well, I don’t know what I expected, but I think you just blew my bloody mind.”

 

“Agreed,” Hermione said, sinking into the pillows with a sigh. “Here’s to more where that came from. But not tonight.”

 

“Not tonight,” agreed Snape, then he laughed. “You know, I had planned for us to have dessert, but I don’t feel a need for it this moment.”

 

Hermione sat straight up in bed, immediately invigorated. “You don’t?”

 

This response made Snape chuckle, and he pulled at her to lay down again. “All right, now you’ve alerted me to the possibility that I *might* have enough energy to at least watch you eat.”

 

“Dessert is the best part of every meal,” she said without a trace of irony, and laughing more, he clapped his hands.

  
“I guess we can have dessert in bed.”


	14. moar sexy, let's go get heather

They snuggled under the duvet together, Hermione clinging closely to him, Snape gently stroking her.

 

“I like the way you feel,” she whispered, nestling her face between his heavy masculine breasts, which shook as he shivered with the pleasure of feeling her breath on his sternum.

 

“I like the way you feel me,” he responded, letting a hand cup her succulent bottom. She felt every bit as squishy and soft as she looked, like smooth clean fondant on a marshmallow cake.

 

They relaxed there for a time, then Lowly arrived, bringing a large side-table with her, decked with a lace tablecloth and a fetching arrangement of fresh-picked red ivy, a scraggly few bits of heather, water mint, and Rose of Sharon berries. Lowly left as swiftly as she’d come, presumably to get the food.

 

“It’s late in the season for heather,” Hermione said, smiling brightly at the pale white flowers, and looked at Snape. “Is this your doing?”

 

He ducked his head, as if to conceal a smile. “I have a few spots I know to look.”

 

“You’re too precious,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “I demand at some point you show me. I wouldn’t know where to look.”

 

He seemed confused for a moment, then realized that, by default, she’d rarely, if ever, left Hogwarts’ grounds to go into the wilderness of the moors around it before. “Oh,” he said, “Yes, certainly. Any time. On days I go, I usually leave after lunch and return by dinner. Why bother going into town to get rowan berries, yarrow, burdock, asphodel, and such when I can very easily go out and collect it myself? Especially when Hogsmeade shopkeepers charge such outrageous prices?”

 

“I’m game,” she said, rolling over onto her belly and looking at him with a flirtatious peek from over her arm. “But for the moment, I’m hungry.”

 

“I fully intend to feed you into a state of satiation so complete that you will have no desire whatsoever to go to your classes tomorrow,” he said with a subtle grin.

 

She flipped around again and poked him in the belly, gently. It sloshed and wiggled with the heaviness of being full.

 

“Are you at that place yet?” she demanded, astutely assessing him.

 

“Not exactly,” he said with a yawn that, inconveniently, was also a burp, and he barely got his hand to cover his mouth in time.

 

“Clearly not,” Hermione said, sitting up, “it sounds like you’ve still got some room in there.” She patted his belly fondly, and it thumped with a satisfying hollowness.

 

Looking down, she noticed that her own podgy belly was decidedly growing larger. The painful-looking marks from her corset were no longer visible, and the way it so completely obstructed her view of her pubes was new.

 

She pressed down on the top of her belly, squeezing it until it folded down upon the nice squishy upper pelvic area, though she couldn’t cover it. Also, her newly-stretching belly came right back up again when she let go.

 

“It’s really taut,” she mused, then gestured for Snape to get up and play with it too.

 

Intrigued, Snape sat up laboriously, his hand and forearm lifting his own massive belly. He’d long gone past the point where his belly could comfortably rest on his pubic area and completely cover it.

 

He indulged her and pressed down on her belly, which, while it landed nicely on either of her thickening thighs, it was indeed too full or simply too small to go down very far.

 

“I can’t wait until it’s so big that it covers up my whole clit area,” Hermione said with unrepenting frankness. “The sense of being so fat that I can’t sit cross-legged without stimulating myself when I laugh - that’s so sexy.”

 

He thought about it, and sat at the edge of the bed, letting his own enormous mound of fat droop over his penis and squish it between his thighs. “I never thought about the repercussions for the feminine form,” he said with a low, sexy drawl. “I just know I enjoy the way it feels on my cock. In certain positions,” he added with a wink, “It’s almost as good as fucking.”

 

Hermione’s hand snuck over and dug its way under his belly to rescue said cock, and she began to stimulate it, periodically rubbing his balls as well.

 

“You’re so sexy,” she whispered.

 

“You’re so sexy,” he repeated, and they gazed into each others’ eyes, challenging each other to refute the other, until finally they both looked up to see the table neatly laid with a jaw-dropping amount of food.

 

They both looked at the amount of food, looked back at each other, and simultaneously declared their intentions.

 

“I can’t eat all that,” Snape said, in the same instant that Hermione said, “Oh, you’re going to eat all of that.”

 

“Okay,” Snape said with an eyeroll. “If this was a different point of my life, I’d happily overindulge and throw up in the bathroom, and come back for more, but I’m not interested in revisiting those days of binging and purging.”

 

“Fine,” Hermione said, noticing the comment but filing it away for later, “I’ll make you eat so much that you’re ready to toss it, but we’ll stop there. I’ll eat as much as I can to help you, and when you’ve stuffed yourself silly, I’ll give you all the belly rubs, and you’ll make delightful sexy noises, and when you genuinely need me to stop, you can say ‘Dolores Umbridge’ and we’ll stop. But until you say her name, I won’t stop, even if you tell me to.”

 

He couldn’t help but laugh at her choice of code word. “Fine,” he agreed, “let me get comfortable.”

 

He barricaded himself against the headboard with pillows on either side of him, his legs spread wide, his belly proudly presiding over the matter with understated glory.

 

“Ready?” Hermione said, sitting on her knees, looking at all the delicacies laid out before them.

 

“One moment,” he said, and waved wandlessly at an old phonograph. An ancient record of Edith Piaf started playing, artistically scratchy.

 

_ Non, rien de rien. Non, je ne regrette rien… _

 

“How fitting,” Hermione said with a snort.

 

“Don’t laugh,” he said very sternly.

 

Her eyes were alight, perceptive. “This  _chanson_  means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” she asked, searching his face. “‘ _No, I regret nothing._ ’ Is that how you actually feel, or what you wish you felt?”

 

“Shut. Up.” he growled, then, in a flash of recollection, he said, “Umbridge.” And he waved his hand angrily at the player, whereupon it shifted to the next song, the classic La vie en rose.

 

“Erm, sorry.” Hermione looked sufficiently chastened, and she leaned over, her belly shifting into an exaggerated angle as she reached out to grasp his hands. “Are we okay?”

 

He gave her a grumpy face - was it exaggerated slightly? - but shrugged, and took her hand. “Feed me,” he said, a growl in his voice, a hand curling sensuously under the curve of his belly, “and we’ll see.”

 

Hermione looked at him closely for a moment, before stretching up to land a shy kiss on his cheek.

 

“We’ll get there by leaps and bounds,” she said empathically, “and many, many pounds.”

 

His cock visibly twitched with the second part of her sentence, and she decided enough was enough, so she grabbed the plate of croissants and sat, cross-legged, in front of him.

 

“Almond, chocolate, or plain?” she asked straightforwardly, and he looked at them with a raised eyebrow.

 

“We are, of course, talking about the order,” he said, “not an exclusive choice.”

 

“Of course not,” said Hermione frivolously, “just as you prefer many tastes in women, it only stands to reason that you’d feel the same about pastries.”

 

“Croissants are in a class separate from all other delicacies, though,” Snape said, “now stop chatting and feed me.”

 

She looked at the choices in front of her, and decided of the dozen croissants she’d stuff a plain one in his mouth first, though prior to entry she had a few other tricks up her sleeve.

 

“You want to be fed, do you?” she said, and she began circling him on the bed. He nodded in response. “Oh,” she said, with a deeply orgasmic sigh, “oh.”

 

His cock was definitely paying attention, and Hermione was also experiencing a lady-boner.

 

“You’ll just eat whatever I put in front of you, won’t you,” Hermione said, leaning in and breathing in the crook of his neck. “You just can’t control yourself. You’ve trained yourself to eat on the sight of food. You feel hungry just seeing it. Yes,” she whispered, “it’s taking all you can muster to keep from grabbing it and shoving it in your face.”

 

He nodded, his hair bobbing, his jowls wobbling, and on the springy bed his belly bounced slightly.

 

“Well,” Hermione said, “I’ll feed you, you pig - but in my own time, not yours.”

 

Snape moaned, and one hand went to touch his cock, the other went to grab a croissant.

 

She slapped him on the hand, hard.

 

“No,” she said, “you’re too fat. These fine foods should be kept under lock and key to keep them away from your growing belly. Your overindulgence is catching up to you, my dear Snape,” she said, patting him on his stomach.

 

He was red in the face, and trying to keep her from seeing that he was stimulating himself with his hand, but she caught him, and murmured, “Your hands seem to be betraying you. You get off on this, don’t you? Being so fat that I need to put you on a diet? Do you like this?” she said, trying to be as stern as she could.

 

It seemed to be effective; he gulped and appeared completely flustered, though completely turned on.

 

It seemed he had a bit of a masochistic streak, Hermione observed. Well, well. She’d certainly use this to her advantage.

 

“You like this,” she said, removing his hand from his cock, and grabbing his other hand, and holding them both together. “You like the idea of getting fatter. You get so turned on by the idea of eating yourself so fat you can’t move, you can’t resist touching yourself and stuffing your face. Well,” she said, “if that’s what you like, that’s what you’re going to get. But on my terms!” she spat, and she held his hands tightly together and dove down to grab her underwear from the floor. She reemerged and put his hands in the leg-slots, and tied the makeshift restraint tightly, so that his hands were behind his back.

 

“Now,” she said, stroking his tummy, which was quivering as he breathed irregularly with the pain of being immensely aroused, “now you will eat. You fat, fat, pig.”

 

He closed his eyes and leaned back into the headboard, mouth open as he breathed hard, and his stomach moved with him, revealing his dick’s alert and distended state.

 

“Here,” Hermione said casually, and she stuffed the corner of a croissant into his mouth. He bit it off hungrily, and chewed swiftly. “That’s right,” she said, taking away the croissant as soon as he was ready for the next bite, “tell me you’re a fat pig who gets off on the idea of getting fatter.”

 

“I…” he said, with a sharp intake of breath, “I’m a fat pig who gets off on the idea of getting fatter.”

 

“That’s right,” she said, putting the next corner of croissant in his mouth. “Eat, eat, and eventually you’ll be so nice and fat that I’ll be able to take you to market and show you as my prize pig.”

 

“Oh gods,” he murmured, “touch me, please.”

 

“Oh, you like that?” she said, and she began stroking him, shoving the remainder of the croissant in his mouth. As soon as he stopped chewing and swallowed, however, she stopped stroking him.

 

“Mmm,” he whimpered, almost as if in pain, “more.”

 

“Yes,” Hermione responded, giving him another bite of croissant. She decided that tearing up the croissants in three chunks would be the most efficient way of getting them inside the body of her lover, so that’s what she did.

 

He licked her fingers so sensuously when he took the next bite from her fingers, she almost came right there.

 

She stroked him as he took bites and chewed, but stopped as soon as he swallowed, so that incentivized him to take bite after bite without stopping.

 

“More,” he pleaded any time she had trouble, “please don’t stop.”

 

She did indeed keep stuffing more and more pastry into him, until the dozen croissants were gone, and she grabbed a tureen of rice pudding.

 

“More carbs,” she said, “low fat. Eat, eat, eat. This will settle heavily in your tummy and bloat it. Be prepared. Do you want to feel fat and bloated?”

 

“Yes,” he moaned, and he obediently sucked down spoonful after spoonful, until there was nothing left but the tureen.

 

At this point, the food was beginning to really make its mark on his tummy, and it was so taut and round that Hermione had to stop rubbing Snape’s cock with both hands in order to feel like she was doing justice to the massive amount of food Snape was putting away.

 

But she couldn’t put both hands on stomach duty, because the second she tried, Snape growled fiercely and said, “No!” very definitively, so she let one hand do one activity, and the other do another.

 

“Now,” she said, “now that you have finished your rice pudding, I will lick the tureen. And you don’t get any.”

 

He watched in near-horror as she did exactly this, licking the spoon sensuously, letting the spoon represent a phallic symbol in her hands.

 

Snape moaned in agony, and pseudo-struggled to get his hands free, but to no avail. He was thoroughly stuck in his bondings.

 

“You’re too fat to get out of those,” Hermione said with a grin, digging her fingers in the tureen, scraping off the last grains of rice, and licking them one by one, seductively. “You won’t get any more food until I say so.”

 

“Please,” he begged, “feed me more.”

 

“You’re still hungry?” she said with a laugh, patting his enormous belly. “I would have thought you were stuffed like a Christmas goose by now. No matter,” she said, “try some Turkish delights, while they’re here.”

 

There were at least three dozen of the little gooey treats. She popped them into his mouth, one by one, an entire dish of them. They went down easily, and he almost didn’t need to chew them. She could have almost poured them down his throat.

 

Once there were no more, he opened his eyes and burped, with a glazed look starting to enter his eyes.

 

She’d never seen this look before in him - a nirvana of being perfectly and utterly transfixed on the feeling of being stuffed. He looked so beautiful, huffing and struggling to take deep breaths, leaning back on the headboard, his belly struggling to stay together in front of him, his fat jiggly thighs rising and falling with his breathing.

 

She wasn’t done yet, though.

 

“Are you ready for the finale?” she said, as she picked up an enormous chocolate cake decorated with chocolate-dipped strawberries, the final major course on the table. “Because I think you’re going to have to finish every last bite of this before I let you go to sleep.”

 

“No,” Snape groaned, leaning back and wiggling his fat arse as he tried to get more comfortable. “I’m so stuffed. I really can’t.”

 

“Let me help you make some room,” she said, and she readjusted his pillows so he could lean back farther. “Yes, that’s it. Now one moment,” she said, and her head disappeared underneath his thick fat tummy as she began to torture him with her tongue.

 

“Oh god,” he said, and came almost immediately on contact, which made Hermione’s job simpler, even if it did make her hair messier.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured when she reemerged, and she laughed it off.

 

“No apologies,” she said, and she wiped the cum off her chin with the back of her hand. “Shall we start on this cake, then?”

 

“Umbridge,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m stuffed to the absolute brim.”

 

“How about just a few bites more?” Hermione said, “then I’ll stuff myself with the rest?”

 

He considered this, looking at the cake with longing. “All right,” he responded. “Even though I’ve eaten enough for nearly the entire castle in one sitting, I’m game for a few bites more.”

 

“Good,” said Hermione, standing up and taking a silver fork from the table, while also grabbing a napkin to get the rest of the cum out of her hair.

 

She coaxed him to take a bite of the succulent cake by kissing it, then meeting his eyes with a sad pout. With the sense of a lover making up for lost time, he ravaged a good third of the cake by the time he lay back, shaking his head, muttering, “Umbridge, Umbridge.”

 

“You did a good job,” she said, relaxing back next to him, untying his hands, and she dove into the rest of the cake.

 

She had the feeling that this wasn’t as much fun as being fed the rich chocolate molten cake, but the way he watched her, captivated, but so stuffed he could barely speak, well, that was also fun.

 

It surprised her how much she could actually eat when she was working at it. Halfway through her chore, she had to readjust herself, and she rested the plate on her curving belly in such a way that it was easier to lift a fork to her mouth.

 

“Yes,” she said, as Snape watched her, his tongue barely emerging from his full lips, “I’m getting fat and lazy, too.”

 

He groaned in an affirming way, nodding ever so slightly, and she kept at it until she’d finished - after many deep breaths, and a couple of forced burps - the entire rest of the massive cake.

 

“I’m feeling it,” she said, and she lay down flat on the bed, wiggling herself down inch by inch until she was horizontal. “Oh god, that feels so good.”

 

“Mhm,” Snape said, and with a much more painful, slow process, he joined her in being flat on the bed. “Oh god,” he said as he finally lay back, “This relationship - if this is what we’re doing - is not going to leave me off a thinner man.”

 

“Not if I can help it,” Hermione said, and she scooted over as close to him as she could get, and ran her fingers through his long hair.

 

“I’m kaput,” he announced breathlessly, clearly not able to open his eyes, but his hand wormed its way to rest on Hermione’s stuffed belly, where he stroked it with careful fingers.

 

“Me also,” she whispered. “Tonight was fucking wonderful.”

 

“You staying here?” he asked, “or going back to your space?”

 

“Which would you prefer?” Hermione asked gently.

 

“Erm.” He didn’t seem comfortable telling her to get out, but that seemed to be the sum of things.

 

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it,” Hermione said, easing herself up. “I like my privacy too. I’m going to bid you goodnight then.”

 

“Erm.” He opened his eyes and gestured for her to lean back down again.

 

“What?” She obliged, though slowly.

 

“I enjoyed myself,” he whispered hoarsely. “May not seem like it, but I did.”

 

“It certainly looks like you enjoyed yourself,” said Hermione, gently stroking his belly, so distended and round that his skin seemed as thin as latex. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

 

“Okay,” he whimpered in response.

 

She laid a kiss on his lips.

 

“Before I leave,” she added, as she stood and half-heartedly began to dress herself in her underwear and such, “I… we talked about a lot of things tonight.”

 

He opened his eyes wide, and she thought she sensed fear in them. But he did not speak.

 

“We talked about a lot of really… personal, intense things,” she said, “and I don’t want you to feel like… beholden to me or anything. I know that sometimes,” she went on, “telling someone a bunch of intense stuff can be something you regret the next day, and I don’t want you to feel badly if you do. Just…” she sighed, “if you need some space, don’t be fucking mysterious about it, all right?”

 

He didn’t respond, and she went on, tremblingly, “...truth be told, I think we perhaps pushed too hard to get to know each other tonight. And while I’m fine and I don’t regret it, I am afraid that, in  the morning, you will. So if that’s the case, just tell me, and we can work it out. But here’s what I don’t like,” she went on, trying to pull her dress up over her belly and failing miserably, “I don’t like when I have a conversation with a person that really goes deep, and then I never hear from them again. That’s happened to me with…”

 

She sighed.

 

“A lot of people. And I don’t want it to happen with you. Okay?”

 

He looked at her sadly, but he seemed to be acknowledging the truth in what she was saying, sleepy and overfed as he was. “Okay.”  

 

“And,” Hermione said with a huff, removing her dress, “I think I’m going to borrow a dressing gown from you, because I’m not fucking putting on that corset again, and without the corset this dress will not go on. So where can I find it?”

 

She walked to the closet, and opened it, and Snape nodded as she grabbed the first silky thing that was hanging on the back of the door.

 

“Nice,” she said, slipping it over her shoulders. It was satin, green and black paisley, and a little dusty.

 

“Keep it,” he murmured, and smiled painfully. “Too small.”

 

“It’ll be too small for me as well, soon enough,” she said with a giddy laugh. She wrapped it around herself, and tied it well, and gathered up her clothes.

 

“Good night,” she whispered, and kissed him on the top of the nose. Then she pulled the sheets over him, and pinched out the remaining lights that were on. “I enjoyed myself. See you tomorrow.”

 

“Night,” he muttered back to the dark room.

 

Hermione left his chambers to the sounds of Edith Piaf’s accordions and orchestra floating off in the distance, a dopey romantic smile on her face despite herself.

 


	15. Neville in the gazebo with the mj

 

////////////////

 

The next morning brought Hermione to reluctantly - grumpily - face the sunlight. Crookshanks stalked from the end of her bed and meowed his high-density smelly breath in her face, and she pushed his cheek away from her nose and groaned.

 

“Fine,” she said begrudgingly, and slipped out of bed. Of course she’d woken up ten minutes before the alarm rang - just enough time for her to go back to sleep and luxuriate in the spare time if she wasn’t dealing with an irritable kneazle.

 

She poured herself some cool chocolate milk from the icebox, filled Crookshanks’ bowl, and patted his butt as he set to it hungrily. She’d been a little generous with him, and his belly was full and round, and he was always ravenous.

 

She sat down to sip at her milk, and found a swan on her table, curled into a delicate rose that unfurled when she picked it up.

 

You're right, was all it said, to start, I need space today. But tomorrow? Meet at great hall for lunch then go out on moors?

 

"Yes," she said, and the swan flapped its wings and disappeared under the door. She was a little crestfallen that she wouldn't see him today, but as she thought about it, she realized it was a good thing. She needed some time without distractions for serious grading that she had put off all week. As well as thinking about what on earth she wanted to do with this captivating man who wanted her to be his best girl.

 

She took her breakfast meal in her room, eating light because she did feel a little overfull from yesterday, and grabbed her things and trudged down to the classroom, where she graded furiously until the bell rang.

  
  


She took her breakfast meal in her room, eating light because she did feel a little overfull from yesterday, and grabbed her things and trudged down to the classroom, where she graded furiously until the bell rang, and she began teaching her classes for the day.

 

She could only relax once she'd gone forward and back a few times with the timeturner and completed her full 'day' of teaching (which of course was considerably longer than a day because of zipping around back and forth through time).

 

It felt, at this point, like it’d been forever since she’d seen Snape, and she almost felt like she was a single woman. She’d never felt this detached from someone when she was starting a relationship with them. With Ron and Viktor, she’d been all over them every second they were in private, and she devoted every waking moment she could to being with them.

 

But for some reason, this relationship with Snape was already very different in how it felt. She did actually feel lonely. She’d never felt lonely in a relationship before.

 

But then again, perhaps it was the weather, which was slipping from warm September sunniness to the cooler days of October.

 

The evening was heavy in the atmosphere, making her feel gloomy, and she decided to nip out to the gardens for a breath of fresh air. The days were only going to get shorter, she reasoned, and the nights were only going to get longer, and she really needed to savor whatever warmth she could find before the castle was plagued by the drafts and freezes of winter.

 

The gardens were lovely by moonlight. It was a waning moon, precisely fitting her mood. She felt the pain of things slipping away, finally, after many years of internal torture.

 

She was so glad he was alive, first and foremost. And she was so glad that he seemed to be happy.

 

It wasn't something she was likely to admit to anyone, much less Snape, but leaving him there in the Shrieking Shack without a shred of decency or courage  on her part - it was one of the most shameful things she'd ever not done. And being that she was a girl who lived on the power of regret-for-having-done-something-is-better-than-regretting-having-not-done-something, well, that made it worse.

 

She sat down in an iron chair and slipped off her shoes; her feet ached with being trod upon all day, and she massaged them gently with her thumb as she edited scroll after scroll of script.

 

It was strange, how she found herself assigning essay after essay these days, when as a student she'd vowed never to assign an essay in class if *she* were ever the teacher.

 

Those days, she'd been filled with delusions about making classes some sort of elite symposium, where it was assumed that everyone had, indeed, completed their work, and instead they talked about things on a different kind of level - it wasn't flavored like a remedy for uneducation, but flavored like a fine wine of intelligence and wisdom. Something like that.

 

But of course when you got down to brass tacks, teaching a room full of kids, even sixth-years and seventh-years, was like herding kneazles, and time after time again she found that assigning the standard essay was her recourse.

 

It saddened her to see so much important content reduced to a shred of truth, bolstered by assumptions, grandiose generalizations, and limping run-ons, but it was better than not forcing the dunderheads to think about these things at all.

 

She found herself looking up at the gazebo near her often, and her eyes snagged on shadows until they were assured that there was no man in a cloak concealed there, watching her protectively.

 

It made her almost laugh aloud to think that Snape, as large and fat as he was now, might conceivably hide in the shadows of a ramshackle gazebo. She knew she would actually see him right away, if he *were* there, but that didn't stop her from looking.

 

He was, indeed, the sort of person who would get stuck in one's imagination and never leave.

 

Thank goodness he'd left the domains of her imagination, and the replayed scenes of horror and self-hatred, to manifest so pleasantly here at Hogwarts.

 

As she thought about him, she felt pangs of jealous heat, despite herself, towards Erika. Hermione knew she had no claim to Snape - none whatsoever - and that he was an adult, and he was perfectly able to choose a person to be his close friend and fuckbuddy without Hermione's intervention.

 

But Hermione was feeling increasingly like she didn't know him as well as she thought she deserved to - and that was because she didn't know Erika.

 

It was uncharitable, but she imagined Erika to be some monstrous person who used and disposed of lovers, but dragged them along by playing to their most vulnerable bits.

 

After all, hadn't Snape said that Erika hadn't seen him shirtless in *years*? If Erika was so shallow that she wouldn't catch on when Snape was struggling with his self-image, what worth did she have, and what kind of claim could she justify towards Snape's heart?

 

And, thinking about it more: What was it that had made him gain so much weight so fast, Hermione's train of thought continued. What had happened to him?

 

The only things she could think of were magic-related, and therefore not likely contenders.

 

It wasn't just aging. Not everyone who got old also got fat, and Snape was so lean for so long, it made no sense that he would just up and balloon up so swiftly.

 

Her mind teased at her with possibilities, but none of which seemed likely.

 

In any case, she puzzled over these questions as she mused among the ivy, fading red, and the gentle murmur of the fountain bubbling, and the gloomy shadows of the gazebo, and the increasingly-cold feeling of the iron chair and table.

 

Eventually she tired and picked up to go back up to her room, but she realized as she got up to go that there *was* a shadow in the gazebo. And this shadow was lighting a cigarette.

 

"Erm," she said, putting her satchel on her shoulder, "Hello?"

 

She was surprised to see Neville standing there, scratching out his cigarette hastily on the ground with his boot, as if she were his grandmum who'd caught him.

 

"'Mione," he said, smiling as much as he could muster. Which wasn't all that much, it looked like.

 

No, Neville looked the worse for wear. Where Snape had gotten fatter over the past five years, Neville had gotten leaner. He was haggard now, no longer the double-chinned, roly-poly boy of Gryffindor house.  

 

It made Hermione sad, frankly.

 

"How are you? We haven't talked much since school started," Hermione said, approaching him gently. She considered whether or not to hug him, but he didn't hesitate, and he grabbed her around the shoulders and held her tightly, as if dreading letting go.

 

"Now, now, I'm not going to float away," she said, patting him between the shoulder blades. He squeezed her tightly again and reluctantly broke away.

 

"What's happening," he said with a whisper, fingering his cigarette case again, and he looked at Hermione for permission.

 

"Go ahead," she said, shaking her hand at him, "just don't blow in my face."

 

"Sorry," he apologized, and lit up with his wand. He inhaled deeply, looking up at the waning moon, and didn't look at her as he exhaled.

 

"You don't seem well," Hermione said, leaning against one of the gazebo's supportive poles. "You tell me *what's happening.*"

 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath again, and seemed to visibly relax.

 

She realized the smell of his smoke was strange, and it took her a moment to recognize it. Neville was smoking marijuana.

 

"Funny," she said, as he remained silent, "I wouldn't have pegged you to choose wacky backy."

 

"It's not what it looks like," he said with a whimper that tried to be a growl. He took a deep breath again and leaned against the railing, closing his eyes. "I'm not doing so well, you're right."

 

"What is it?" Hermione asked, realizing that, indeed, there was something truly wrong.

 

He looked at her with sad eyes.

 

"Come on," she said with a whisper, "it can't be that bad."

 

He nodded. "It is."

 

"But..."

 

She tried to ask him *why hasn't the wizarding world cured this yet,* but the words got stuck in her throat. Fortunately, this gave her a chance to reconsider.

 

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I'm so, so sorry." She took a deep breath. "What kind?"

 

Neville grimaced. "Cancer of the lymph."

 

She looked at him, and their eyes met, and she found herself tearing up.

 

"I'm so, so sorry," she whispered.

 

"It is what it is," he said, taking another breath of his joint. "I'll probably survive it. Statistically speaking. They didn't catch it as early as they could have... but no one's to blame for that. Not really," he said, but there was something about his voice that indicated that he did indeed blame someone.

 

Hermione didn't say anything, and Neville took another few deep breaths.

 

"They all just thought I was losing weight because I was becoming more healthy or something," he went on, his voice cold. "They all congratulated me on my portion control. Did anyone check my lymph nodes until they were swollen and painful? No. When I went to the healers for chest pain and constant fatigue, they all just told me to drink more water and take vitamin D."

 

He looked miserable, and slumped more into himself.

 

"I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered. She felt a variety of emotions - a desire to help, a desire to ease his pain, a desire to find a preventative cure. "How long has this been going on?"

 

He shrugged. "Since last school year. It's sometimes better, sometimes worse. Mostly worse."

 

He took a deep breath. "But what can you do. I just ask you don't tell my grandmarm. It's hard enough trying to keep it from McGonagall and the rest."

 

"Why not tell them?" Hermione exclaimed.

 

"What, and lose my position, which I just got?” he said, "Risk looking weak and incompetent, yet again? No!

 

“Moreover,” he added, “it's my own private health matter. I have no desire to be pitied. I've had enough of that for one lifetime." He shook his head, evidentially regretting things in the past.

 

Hermione saw his pain, and wanted to do something, so she asked, “What can I do to help?"

 

Neville snorted, which was strange to see. He'd become bitter with his disease.

 

“Nothing you’d actually do for me,” he said with a hollow laugh. “Nothing that anyone’d do for me, these days.”

 

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

 

Neville looked at her squarely, then, evidentially deciding he could risk telling her, said flatly, “Luna and I broke it off.”

 

“Oh,” Hermione said, a sad weight sinking into her stomach. “Oh.”

 

“Yeah,” Neville said, and his face started to clearly tear up, and he began to cry. He sank down onto the ground and sat there, curled into a ball, and he sobbed. “I… I just want to be held,” he whimpered, “I want someone to tell me it’ll be all right. I want to be cuddled, and kissed, and held, and sucked off once in a while, and told that I’m not alone. That’s what I want,” he said, choking up on his own words, “and I may as well say it, since I’m being a bloody fool right now, but Hermione, I’ve always carried a torch for you. And if you want me to be completely honest - I want you to care about me, at least a little, and hold me and tell me it will be all right. Because I’d trust it, from you. And maybe I won’t die alone.”

 

Now none of these feelings were ones that Hermione had ever reciprocated. She’d never thought of Neville more than a friend, though granted she’d occasionally noticed the way his pants were just a trifle too tight, and his belly was hanging pudgily over his belt. But she’d been so consumed with her school-wifery of Ron and Harry that Neville simply hadn’t been observed by her.

 

She was observing him now. And she was wishing that she wasn’t entering a pseudo-relationship with Snape right this very moment.

 

“Perhaps it’s just my infatigable do-gooder instincts,” she said softly, kneeling and putting a hand on his shoulder, “but I’d like to be that person, at least do some of those things.”

 

He was genuinely startled, and his dew-kissed eyes fluttered open. He was weak and fragile, and inspired all sorts of tender feelings in her breast.

 

Dammit all. This was the same sort of problem she had with Harry and Ron. She couldn’t help but be attracted to any attractive figure that sat in front of her.

 

Hm. Actually. This was the same sort of problem she had with Harry and Ron - but there was a possible fix.

 

“So, erm,” Hermione said, “I don’t know what or how much we can do, or how far we can go, since, erm, I’m kinda starting a new relationship right now.”

 

Neville retreated as self-consciously as a snail. “Oh, then, never mind, I’m sorry, please, I didn’t know. Forgive me.”

 

“No,” Hermione said, “you misunderstand. This particular relationship, I think, has some… room… for a kind of arrangement that would be satisfying to both yourself and me.”

 

Neville looked at her quizzically, but he was clearly not impressed.

 

“I don’t think I want to be part of that,” he said, sadly. “I mean…”

 

He hesitated, and his tongue passed over his lips. He was clearly weighing the benefits of being with Hermione and not, and it was not an intuitive decision.

 

“Who,” he said at last, “is this other relationship with? Someone I know?”

 

“Erm,” Hermione said, and she imagined at once that Neville’s reaction would be volcanic. “I don’t know that I want to talk about the specifics, exactly. I’m not sure what he and I are doing right now. But,” she added, grasping him in both arms and cradling him, “I know that I want to be here for you. Even if it’s a bit late.”

 

He continued to cry quietly into her shoulder, clearly resonating with the feeling of having let his burden down for the first time in a long while.

 

It felt so strange, knowing that she had an agreement with Snape and yet here she was, entirely permitted to indulge her desire to comfort Neville in whatever way she chose. Though granted, she realized that she and Snape had far from described exactly what the parameters of their relationship were.

 

In any case, she’d see him tomorrow, hopefully they’d be able to stave off having sex for long enough to see where their boundaries lay, and then she’d see where Neville fit into all this.

 

He seemed to cry for an eternity, there in the gardens, but Hermione was compassionate to every tear, and she didn’t feel begrudging one bit.

  
There was, as it turned out, only one thing that distracted Neville from his physical and emotional pain enough to stop crying - and that was a lovely, deep kiss. 


	16. the asinine kids

 

Saturday breakfast was leisurely and wonderful, with scones and jam, but Hermione did not overindulge. She had kept her meals light throughout the past few days, always leaving the table a little hungry.

 

If Snape liked to watch her eat, then by golly, she would eat.

 

The sun was running its paces faster and faster through the sky, so when she got into the Great Hall for lunch, the sun was shining through the windows already, and all the students were lazily trickling in from whatever activities they’d been at all morning (including sleeping, she assumed).

 

Snape was already there, even though she thought she was early herself, and he was staring coldly in the direction of the Slytherin table.

 

“You all right?” she asked as she approached him, and gently stroked the back of his hand.

 

He cast her a warning look, and it was all she needed to know she needed to back off.

 

“I get it,” she said with a nod, and sat down, her eyes drifting in the direction of his own gaze. Two Hufflepuff pranksters, dressed in black from head to toe, including synthetic, unnaturally dark long tresses, were throwing bedpillows at each other over the dining table, the feathers spewing everywhere.

 

Hermione wasn’t sure immediately what had happened, but she watched as one of them - a 2nd year named Milly - grabbed all the pillows again and - to Hermione’s shock - shoved them up her robes, creating an enormous round belly, complete with rolls. Speaking of - Milly’s compatriot, Roveric, grabbed several sweet pastries from the table and gave them to the other prankster, and Milly smeared her face with them, and took a few enormous bites to fill out her cheeks.

 

“I’m Professor Serious Snaps,” she said, deadpan, “and I lurk the castle at night because I’m still searching for the lost breakfasts of Christmases past.”

 

This was met with uproarious hooting and applause, to which the budding actress crowed with delight, “Detention, detention for all of you! Except for Slytherins. You get to crawl up on my belly for the warmth.”

 

Hermione stood, and cast one look at Snape, who was abject (she could tell now) but still stoic, and she literally leaped over the table - managing to be graceful, not awkward - and approached the Hufflepuff table. The children had never seen her mad before, so they didn’t stop their games.

 

Well, when she grabbed the ear of the ringleaders and dragged them out of the Great Hall, the rest stopped and stared after them in wonderment and fear.

 

“Erm, Professor Granger,” chirped Roveric, “we didn’t intend for it to get this out of hand, you see-”

 

“Enough,” Hermione said, her voice so cold it nearly chilled her teeth, “enough.”

 

She dragged them out of sight of the Great Hall’s open doors, and let them stand in the corner for a good long minute quivering before she spoke.

 

“Mildred,” she said, “don’t you have something about your body you’re ashamed of?”

 

The girl squirmed. “Erm.”

 

“Spit it out.”

 

She looked pale, and glanced at Roveric.

 

Hermione kept her face stern. “You felt like it was all right to embarrass an esteemed Professor - who is also one of the most important people who made the wizarding world safe for you to live today - in front of over a hundred students. I’m sure you can handle sharing in front of just one.”

 

Roveric giggled nervously, and Hermione just shot him a look that said, ‘You’re next.’

 

Milly blinked, then said, “Erm. Well. I… my cunt don’t  look like they do in pictures.”

 

This made Roveric - poor chap - turn dirigible red.

 

Hermione sighed. Yet another thing to talk about with McGonagall - sex education. “As long as there aren’t six tentacles poking out of it, you are probably fine, my dear.”

 

The girl still appeared concerned, and a little embarrassed, but Roveric looked like he was going to die of not breathing.

 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “But even if there was something wrong with it,” she said, as the girl opened her mouth with an unmistakable ‘erm-professor-could-you-take-a-look-at-this-please’ in her eyes, “would you be happy to have it be the talk of the school over Saturday morning lunch, the day of a big game?”

 

The students both knew they’d been told, and hung their heads in lieu of an answer.

 

“Roveric,” Hermione went on, “tell us something now.”

The boy mumbled something, without looking up, and Hermione demanded, “speak up!”

 

“I got pimples,” the boy said, “in my arsecrack.”

 

Hermione had to summon willpower from one of the nearby suits of armor in order to suppress her laughter.

 

“And you wouldn’t like that to be shared with other people, either, I take it?” she said firmly.

 

“No,” he admitted.

 

“So,” Hermione said, “how do you think someone like Professor Snape might feel about being teased for something that’s not his fault?”

 

“How is it not his fault?” Roveric exclaimed. “He’s a fucking lardarse.”

 

“And how do you know it’s not a spell cast by an enemy that made him a ‘fucking lardarse,’” Hermione hissed. “How do you know it’s not because he’s sick? How do you know it’s not because his body is just different?”

 

The children were clearly regretting their activities of the hour.

 

“I didn’t mean to let it get this far,” Milly said, becoming tearful. “It just happened. I just was trying things on for the game and my friends told me I looked like Professor Snape, and I thought it was funny so I took it downstairs.”

 

“How embarrassing,” Hermione said with a shake of her bushy head. “Especially to be made a fool of for losing points for your house on the day of a major game. Fifty points from Hufflepuff.”

 

Both of them looked crestfallen, and began to realize the severity of the situation.

 

“Moreover,” Hermione went on, “if this incident ‘just happened’ to you, I think it’s safe to say that you have no right to be criticizing someone for something that might have ‘just happened’ to them,” Hermione said without skipping a beat. “I think you’ll reconsider this course of action if it ‘just happens’ in the future.”

 

“Yes, Professor,” Milly said, sniffling, and Roveric nodded in agreement, looking pained.

 

“I think,” Hermione said, “that the best way you can apologize is to think of something truly, truly nice to do for the Professor. In fact, I will give back half the points to Hufflepuff if you come up with and act out a suitable idea. Am I understood?”

 

Their chime, in unison, of “yes Professor Granger,” was music to her ears, and she went back to the Great Hall, where Snape appeared to have relaxed none of his muscles, and he was waiting for her, not having eaten a single bite of his food.

 

Neville came in just then, and Hermione waved, but she sat down next to Snape. She saw Neville’s eyes flit from Hermione, to Snape, and back to Hermione again, then with a carefully-cultivated ambivalence, the younger professor chose a seat at the opposite end of the table, where he half-heartedly ate a bowl of porridge.

 

Hermione could only focus on one catastrophe for the moment, however, and she pushed Snape’s plate towards him.

 

“Eat,” she murmured, “it’s fine now.”

 

“You took points,” he said, not nodding or gesturing at the house points display. “Quite a few, it seems.”

 

“I’ll give the points back to them,” Hermione said, “provided they do something for me.”

 

“Ah,” Snape said, apparently reassured, “so your bleeding heart has not escaped you after all.”

 

“No indeed,” Hermione said with a grin, “It’s just gotten a bit more sly.”

 

“I see,” Snape said, sitting back in his chair and steepling his fingers thoughtfully.

 

His stomach gurgled pleasantly, and *how* arousing it was for her!

 

She responded by taking her fork and taking a bite of his spaghetti bolognese. “Hey,” he exclaimed, but gently, watching her face as she spooned the red sauce into her mouth and chewed and swallowed.

 

“Always looks better on someone else’s plate,” Hermione said with a smile, and got up to get herself a plate of her own.

 

Upon her return, he’d cleared half of the contents of his own plate, and was dabbing his lips with a napkin in as dainty a manner as possible - as if he could hide the sheer pleasure he’d been having in filling his belly.

 

“Come now,” Hermione said, and put a second plate next to his. “You’ll be wanting a bit more, so I saved myself the trouble of getting up a second time.”

 

“Or have you?” Snape asked with a smile, and Hermione was pleased to see that he seemed no longer to be paying attention to the children. A good thing, too, because Milly and Roveric were watching Snape eat with a mixture of concern, disgust, and fear.

 

Hermione herself gave them a stern warning look that made them retreat hastily into their own lunches, and though they periodically checked back to see if she was still looking, she didn’t disappoint them.

 

At least her charmwork didn’t disappoint them. For herself, Hermione was unable to tear her eyes from Snape and his nice fat belly, heavying man-breasts, and tickling of a triple-chin.

 

As he tore his way through a third - then fourth - platter of spaghetti, then finished with two generous slabs of chocolate cake, Hermione was almost unable to keep her hands away from her clit to more decent places. As it was, as she helped grab his napkin from the floor when he dropped it, she went nearly wild to feel his boner creeping underneath his trousers.

 

Soon they finished lunch and exited the Great Hall, Snape moving slowly with the preponderance of food that had made its temporary home in his stomach.

 

“How full are you?” she asked as they began to walk outside in the yard towards the apparition point.

 

“Just full enough that I won’t be hungry until dinner,” Snape said, “and just in case…” He waved his hand, and a basket emerged from where it was invisible, floating behind them.  

 

“How sweet,” Hermione said, in all sincerity, and showed him that she’d also brought provisions in her magic shrinking bag.

 

“We *will* be feasting up there, won’t we?” he said with a lopsided smile that was entirely too adorable, and Hermione added, “and other things, I hope.”

 

“Quite,” he said, almost jovial, and soon they reached the apparition point.

 

“Take my hands,” he said commandingly, and she obeyed without question. “Let me lead,” he said, and she closed her eyes, allowing him to will them where he wanted to go.

 

With a few moments, they arrived on a beautiful hillcrest.

………….

(sorry for lack of posting after a consistent two weeks or so - real life caught up to me! argh! it’s got my legs, it’s got my legs! help save me!)


	17. picking heather

They landed in the middle of a beautiful hill with patches of dying heather scattered all around. Hermione reflexively gathered her arms around her to insulate herself from the brisk, bog-scented breeze that came from over the moor, and Snape noticed before she did herself, and cast a warming spell over her. He himself was wearing a heavy coat that settled well over his large body. Not saying anything, he strode forward, putting on his long komodo-hide gloves, and started skinning the dried yarrow flowers from their stalks.

She hadn't known he was serious about this being an actual gathering trip, so for a moment she floundered - she had worn good walking shoes and a warm wool sweater, but she hadn't brought anything to take clippings or collect them.

Snape seemed to have anticipated this, however, and as she caught his eye, he nodded towards the basket that had followed them.

"I wasn't sure if you would remember to bring the necessary things," he said, grunting as he bent over, "so I took the liberty of bringing extras."

"Thanks," Hermione said, going to the basket and opening it.

She tried not to look too closely at the food that jammed the basket to its brim, so that it'd be a surprise when they got it out. She saw another pair of heavy gloves and retrieved them, as well as a pair of iron clippers, and several mesh bags of varying fineness.

She grabbed one of the more fine ones and put on the gloves, then joined Snape in his exercise.

He seemed to be enjoying his exertions, she noticed as she set herself up to work alongside him. His hands grasped the stems firmly, without breaking them, and if it was a single stem without any extensions, he'd cup his hand around the stem and slide it upwards with a swift and practiced motion that resulted in virtually no breakage, and almost no loss of the tiny frail drying flowers.

Hermione tried to emulate him, and initially lost a great deal, the flowers and their pollen floating in the afternoon air like powdered sugar.

"Faster," he said, "you have to be like a viper. And be on the watch for poison hemlock," he added, "it looks similar, and sometimes the most frail and delicate of flowers is the most deadly."

"You don't need to warn me about that," snapped Hermione, "I've taken first-year potions."

He didn't respond, instead just snapping a final cluster of flowers and moving to another part of the patch.

They worked in this way for a time, until Snape decided they'd filled enough bags with flowers, and he sealed them with an antileakage charm and got out trowels.

"Roots," he said by explanation, "It's a bit of work, but it's a galleon per pound."

"Oh," Hermione said, and realized that, of course, he wasn't just picking all this just for his own potions. As she looked at the bags they'd collected - about two dozen at this point - it was painfully obvious that it was more than a single potions-master, even one completing research, might need.

"What," he asked, studying her face as she obediently picked up a trowel and knelt on the ground, "are you disappointed that I should be so mercenary?"

Hermione began to excavate a root from a plant she had already picked flowers from. "If I were less of a pragmatist," she said slowly, "I'd say that it was inappropriate to pick things to sell on a date."

He looked stricken, and stopped scraping at the ground to look at her attentively. He seemed a little confused, but as she was getting to read him better, she could tell he was mostly scared.

"However," she said, continuing with the task of shoveling before her, "I am more of a pragmatist than most girls, so as long as I get a cut, it's fine with me."

"Oh, of course," he said, visibly relaxing. "Except that it's not for personal gain. This is purely to supplement my meager research fund."

"Really?" Hermione said, taken aback. "You mean to say that you're struggling for funding? After all you've done for this country?"

He shrugged, and went on digging. "McGonagall gives me an annual research stipend in lieu of a full salary. Since I'm not teaching, she doesn't feel like I deserve a substantial income separate from my research goals, especially since I am not paying for the research facilities-"

"-you mean the dungeons," Hermione interrupted with a grimace.

"I get a certain amount that I am permitted to use for personal matters, and a certain number of quid in a pension fund," he continued, and moaned in pleasure as he successfully unearthed a large nebulous root network. "And I in fact earn more than I did as a teacher and as head of house. But there is the expectation that since my cost of living is so low, the money I receive is supposed to cover all of the work that I do. I can't get another penny out of her. Which is ridiculous," he went on, bagging the root system and inching carefully towards the next bulging recipient of his attention, "given that the cost of my materials for a semester can potentially be more than my earnings."

"I can't believe it," Hermione said with a frown. "How do you make up the difference?"

He shrugged. "Grants, mostly. But the problem with those is that I have to squeeze my goals into their parameters. Sometimes this means I massage the goals of my research - which is not ethical of course, particularly since I am expected to get certain results - but more often I massage my project's boundaries. My research, indeed, is just as bloated and overextended as other things about me," he said, sending her a firey glance that betrayed how shallowly beneath the surface his lust lurked.

Hermione took this as a cue, and carefully removed her gloves by turning them inside-out, attentively not getting the outside surface of the gloves on her hands. As Snape turned back to digging - well, more like stabbing at the soft dirt around the base of the root with his trowel - Hermione moved behind him and gently snaked her hands underneath his coat and settled them on either side of his paunch, which seemed to struggle to be comfortable as Snape knelt in the dirt.

"I like these other things about you," Hermione said with a shiver, pressing her lips against his neck, letting her hands snuggle in the folds of his lovehandles, her fingers draping over the curve of his belly and patting it gently, stroking it.

"Also," she went on, as Snape leaned back, uncurled his legs, and sat back on his arse, heaving deeper and deeper breaths as he gave up on this particular root for the moment. "I'm impressed by your taste. I never really noticed how much care you put in dressing. When I was a student, it was all black, black, black to me. But now I notice that you seem to choose the softest, most lovely fabrics. It's nice."

"Blame Lucius Malfoy for that," Snape said with a groan, "there was a day in fifth year where I was... embarrassed by my clothing, and Malfoy decided that it reflected badly on the whole house for me to be dressed so poorly, so he made a point of taking me shopping, in exchange for writing some essays for him or some nonsense." He sighed. "He was so in the closet, it was ridiculous. I'm certain he enjoyed that shopping trip much more than I did, even child of poverty that I was."

"So ever since, you were addicted," Hermione said, letting her hands relish the feel of his silk shirt and the soft, tender, juicy man inside it.

"No, not addicted," Snape corrected, as he took off his gloves from the inside-out as well, "it... mostly was for self-protection."

He leaned back into her slightly, and grasped her hands, guiding them closer to the front of his belly, and gently rubbing them against him.

"Once I realized that people based their impressions of you so heavily on your clothes," he went on, "I saw a reason and a way to take charge of how people saw me. And once I realized that Malfoy was an easy mark when it came to dressing up young men," he said with a smirk, "I... well, I won't say exploited that, but I took advantage of it as needed until I couldn't any more. And at this point," he said, unwinding her from his body and turning around to face her, "I am able to take care of myself, as it were."

"No more dressing up for Lucius Malfoy," Hermione said, pressing more kisses into his neck, and his breathing began to get more shallow. "Did you ever do anything else for Lucius Malfoy?"

"Oh, just the typical tit-for-tat," Snape said, clearly not interested in going into more detail, but he added, dismissively, "I sucked his dick in broom closets, let him fuck me in the ass whenever he liked, that sort of thing."

She looked at him, somewhat horrified at his blase attitude.

"It's not as if that wasn't the norm back then," he said, with a detached coolness that frightened her. He nestled his face into her neck as she held him, and he had one hand on his belly, one hand on her thigh. It was an awkward but strangely adorable position. "The purebloods of their parents' generation were *so* fucked up. There was an explicit belief that purity reigned above all, and that fucking boys didn't count as impure because of bullshit reasons, and they remained virgins if they avoided contact with women until marriage. As most of them insisted, Malfoy talked big about his love of the fairer sex, but unlike most of them, I could tell he actually *enjoyed* seeing me naked."

Hermione let her hands drift down, and she pulled him close into a hug, not sure how she felt about all this self-disclosure.

"Are you all right?" he asked, pulling away just enough to look at her face.

"Fine," she said, her tongue feeling heavy. "It's just hard envisioning you as a bottom."

"I didn't think of it that way," he said, putting his face back where it had been, which was nice because his plump face against her clavicle was warm and comforting. “I didn’t feel taken advantage of. I only bottomed for Malfoy, and I definitely felt like I was getting the better half of the deal.”

“All for a bunch of clothes,” Hermione said with a frown. She didn’t like to judge, but in this particular case, she felt justified.

“Well,” Snape said, “there was that, but there was also protection. No one in Slytherin bothered me anymore about my blood status, which was nice.”

This changed how Hermione felt about the situation immediately. “Oh. I see.”

“Yeah,” he went on, almost wistfully, then said, “but enough about that. We’ve still got much of our task ahead of us.”

He eased himself out of her hold and went back on his knees to continue digging, casting a glance back at her as he did so, as if unsure what she was thinking of him - and as if he was concerned about it.

She stood and tapped the trowel, transfiguring it into a spade, and she leaned into it.

“Be careful,” he warned as the metal sank into the earth, “you don’t want to destroy the roots. They’re very thin and small.”

“I’ll just loosen up the soil around the edges, and you get it out with the trowel when you’re ready,” Hermione said.

She pressed it into the earth and felt it sink into the soil, and it stopped when it hit a root, and she carefully wiggled it until she was digging around the root. Once she’d found the bottom of the root base, she used the spade as a lever to raise the plant out of the ground.

Snape watched with concern and interest, and ultimately begrudging approval.

“That fine?” she asked, and he nodded.

“Just don’t cut up the roots too badly,” he said, and moved to unearth the rest of the one she’d been working on gently. His work was painstaking, like an archaeologist brushing away soil from a priceless painting.

She watched him with fascination at the way he leaned forward, his belly sagging against his plump thighs, his man-breasts hanging heavily, his bottom lip tucked under as he focused on the careful procedure. She realized she’d never seen him truly at work, ever, after years of knowing each other, and it was refreshing to see him in a position where he was in his element so absolutely.

It occurred to her that she’d also never really seen him *happy* before, and that saddened her.

“Kiss me,” she said as he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his glove.

“With pleasure,” he growled, and their lips met.

He tasted salty, and bitter. Not minty-fresh, but still pleasant. She pulled away an inch or two to look into his eyes.

“Your lips are so fucking soft,” she whispered, and licked them tenderly, her tongue convincing its way into his mouth again, and he made small protesting noises, though smiling.

“We’ve got to finish,” he said, though it was clear he was saying this just for the sake of being responsible.

“Screw responsibility,” Hermione said with a flirtatious sweep of her hair. “Screw me instead.”

He looked at the roots in his hands, then without preamble he dropped them and again unrolled his gloves.

“I can’t say no to that,” he said with a glittering smile, and he stood up awkwardly. “Get the blanket.”

Hermione didn’t need to be told twice, and in a split second the blanket was laid out on the dry, slightly damp grass.

Snape’s belt buckle clinked as he whipped it off, and Hermione noticed he had extended his trousers today, or worn a looser pair - there were no harsh red lines telling the tale of the struggle between his garments and his body today.

She lay down on the blanket and drew up her modest, long dress to reveal that she was wearing no underwear.

“Oh,” Snape said softly, easing himself onto the blanket, “you’d like me to do something about that?”

“Not yet,” Hermione said with a whimper, “kiss me more.”

He responded positively to this command, and lay down next to her, slipping his arms out of his coat and laying it across them both.

Then Hermione began licking him, all over his face - the high parts of his cheekbones, from which his fat cheeks drooped so elegantly; his nice round chins; his taut upper lip; his earlobes; his neck.

In response, he lay there perfectly still, his eyes closed and his face taut with a growing smile. His hands began to wander around her body, feeling her squishy parts and her firm parts with equal attention, and he stroked her lower and lower until, finally, the inevitable - they dodged under her hem and began to play with her clit, stroking her as gently and lovingly as a musician might a mandolin, bringing her closer and closer.

Hermione’s breathing quickened, and she smelled the scents of the dry hillside: rain on the horizon, leaves aging into temperate reds and yellows, mildewy lichen, and the heavy scent of peat. All this served as a backdrop for Snape’s smells - clean laundry, sweat, yarrow sap, and post-lunch breath.

Snape was laying his head on her stomach, and he turned to look into her eyes searchingly. He was somber, but focused, and all of a sudden a flash of impishness came on his face, and he dove down to lick and suck at her lower regions.

She hadn’t felt so spoiled in a long time. Viktor had been this interested in pleasing her, but Ron had never been - cunninlingus had been a chore for him. Now of course she knew why, but at the time she had forgot that some men *liked* to lick pussy. And it was lovely to see that Snape wasted no time working on this goal.

“Enough,” she finally whimpered, wet and overwhelmed by desire, her cunt aching, “get inside me.”

He eased himself into a missionary position, and arranged his belly so that he had unobstructed access; it landed on her pubic area and sent a wave of stimulation through that area, so pleasurable that she nearly fainted at the feeling of his fat belly there.

He cast the normal protective, anti-pregnancy charms and went fully into her, thrusting in beautiful agony, and Hermione writhed under him, completely satisfied with being stuck underneath his enormous stomach. She felt it dig into her over and over again, heavy in its pressure, and she felt moans of pleasure ease out of her body despite herself.

“Oh yes,” she breathed as he hungrily consumed her, “please, please, yes.”

Her cervix was tight and tingling, full of the blissful experience of being filled with a cock of perfect fit. It was a relief after years of pretending that Ron’s rod-like cock, so narrow and long, satisfied her.

In and out he went, every moment breathing hard with the exertion.

She noticed that he sweated a lot, at least today, and it was almost enough to make her laugh out loud as she felt drop after drop land on her creamy skin. She loved feeling him inside her. He was so virile and soft and luxurious. There was nothing, nothing, she felt, that could make her more happy than fucking him right now.

He had a lot more endurance today, and she herself was almost fatigued by the time he finally came inside her and collapsed, heavy and unbearably delightful on top of her, protecting her from the wind like an enormous warm bear. He kissed her over and over, and she smiled and kissed him back.

“That was beautiful,” she said, and kissed him, her arms around his soft torso.

“You’re beautiful,” he said after a pause, as if he’d debated in his mind whether or not he was willing to be that corny.

She laughed and kissed him again, her mind awash with pleasant feelings.

They lay there a few minutes, resting, breathing deeply of the clean air, listening to the rustling of the dry grass in the wind, the soft rumbling of a nearby unseen brook, and each others’ breathing.

As she embraced that clarity, she remembered that she’d forgotten to tell him about Neville, and she felt a lump form in her stomach.

She sat up and pulled her dress down, but wrapped the coat around her as much as she could.

“Hey,” he said, lazily, “I’m the one without trousers.”

“Look,” she said, pointing. Her eyes trained on a motion in the distance, in the underbrush. “That’s not a sheep. There’s no domestic animals around here.”

He sat up, reaching for his trousers. “Where?”

She stared at the animal, and as it moved, she saw its profile, and she could tell what it was. “There. It’s a doe, it looks like. With a fawn.”

The graceful creature trotted through the heather, and disappeared out of sight as it headed in the shadow of their hill.

“I saw,” Snape said sadly, and sighed deeply. He lay back down again and stared blankly at the sky.

It took her a moment to realize why this might be triggering for him, but a conversation with Harry had given her knowledge that Snape’s patronus was a doe, same as Harry’s mum’s.

She bent her head. “Sorry,” she said, “so sorry.”

“Whatever,” he said, throatily, “I’ve got to grow up sometime. Can’t fucking go on like this forever.”

She raised her head to look at him, and he caught her eye, and in response he covered his face with his hair. He wasn’t fast enough to prevent her from noticing that he’d already gotten teary-eyed.

*Fuck* Hermione thought.

“You take your time growing up,” she said, “I’m still getting to know you, and eventually I won’t run ramshod accidentally over your sore spots.”

“No,” he said, “instead…”

But he seemed to reconsider his words, and swallowed them.

“Instead what?” she asked, laying down next to him, putting a hand on his thigh, and staring at the sky alongside him.

“...my temper was going to make me say something unkind,” he said, his voice tight. “I’m choosing not to.”

“Thanks,” Hermione said, though she felt uncomfortable. This was yet another time that Snape had gone from utterly blissful to tearful in a matter of moments, and it was concerning. However, she wasn’t about to say anything about it now, so she filed it away for later. She felt bad for even filing it away, particularly as his hand sought out her own, and she grasped it.

*Poor broken man,* she thought, *you’ve had it rough enough without me trying to decide that you’re too broken for me to love before I’ve given you a chance.*

She stroked him comfortingly, and she noticed his breathing become regular and slow, not strained and shallow. Sitting up, she took a good look at his face, and she decided he had fallen at least partially asleep.

Deciding she had better get back to work, she went back to gather more yarrow roots.

He awoke a mere quarter hour later, and appeared recomposed. “Good,” he said, kissing her on the cheek as she finished bagging a fifth bag of roots, “we’ve got another few bags to go, then we’ll call it a day, does that sound all right to you?”

“What about other plants?” Hermione asked, “there’s poison hemlock around here, isn’t there?”

“Yes,” Snape said, “though we can’t pick anything else once we’ve gathered it, at least not without cleansing our gloves and shears.”

“Well, let’s make that our last effort for the day,” Hermione said, “It’s useful, and certainly brings more per bag than this silly yarrow.”

“True,” Snape said with a sly smile. “I still feel that you’re an awfully strange Gryffindor.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” she replied evasively, and heaved up another root system for him to excavate.

They spent another hour on these tasks, until finally Snape sat back on the blanket, grabbing a canteen of water and sipping from it. “I’m not ready to continue until I’ve had a bit of something. Will you join me?”

“Of course,” she said with a purr, peeling off her gloves.

He got out two mugs and immediately filled them with sweet spiced cider, setting the bottle with a charm to automatically refill them when needed, and Hermione laid out an assortment of cheese and butter, and pressed them onto slices of fresh rye bread.

As Snape chewed his second slice, Hermione felt like she’d waited too long to mention Neville.

“So, what exactly are our parameters for our relationship, given that it seems we are starting one?” she said, leaning back and sipping her cider.

“I thought it was unclear whether or not we were starting something,” Snape replied casually, but based on the attentive look in his eyes, this was an affected casualness.

“I guess so,” Hermione said, and sighed. “So let’s make it explicit, then.”

“This suits me,” he said dryly, but he was smiling gently.

“So given that we are doing a relationship, of sorts,” Hermione said, “the qualities of it are yet to be defined. You said you really don’t want me pursuing casual relationships with others. Am I correct about this impression?”

Snape shrugged, not appearing concerned. “Who do you have your eye on?” The look in his eyes seemed to assume that there wasn’t anyone interesting in the sphere of Hogwarts, so he wasn’t worried.

“Erm,” Hermione said, then took a deep breath. “I have to confess - last night, I kissed Neville Longbottom.”

Snape literally dropped the slice of bread from his hand.

“Don’t worry,” Hermione said, “he’s not any sort of competition for you, especially not in the important ways like physical attraction and whatnot. I just… erm…”

Snape seemed to be in a frenzy of internal calculations, given his eyes were glued to the ground, and his lips moved ever so slightly.

“Can you listen to me, please?” Hermione said, and he snapped to attention.

“Yes,” he said, clearly biting his tongue.

“Neville’s ill,” Hermione said, “in fact, there’s a chance he’s going to die. He’s incredibly lonely. And don’t you *dare* tell anyone else on staff that he’s sick,” she added, “he’s terrified of losing his position.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Gryffindors.”

Hermione conceded that it wasn’t likely that Neville would be dismissed for being ill, so she didn’t argue.

“Anyway,” she said, “perhaps it isn’t the best timing-”

“-that’s bloody accurate,” Snape hissed, but he picked up his bread finally from the blanket and stuffed the rest in his mouth.

Taking this as a good sign, Hermione went on, “Point is, Neville is lonely for physical touch and companionship. You don’t want to see me all the time, and I get lonely when you don’t want to see me, so I figure it might work.”

“Would you want to fuck him?” asked Snape, barely keeping civil.

She knew she couldn’t get away with half-truths with Snape at this point.

“I dunno,” Hermione said, “maybe? However,” she said, “he’s just not attractive to me. His cancer has done away with all his soft parts.”

Snape seemed vaguely reassured, though not completely. Hermione realized that part of his fear must have been related to Neville’s gangly body. *He doesn’t believe that I genuinely prefer bigger folks,* Hermione realized, and once she understood this, it made Snape’s entire reaction more understandable.

She went on, “I’d be happy to cuddle with him and try and cajole him into putting some meat back on his bones. And who knows what might happen,” Hermione went on, “Maybe I’d even touch him, and maybe I’d let him touch me, too. But he’s not the person on campus that drives me wild with desire,” she said, gently touching his tense arm. “He’s not the one that excites me.”

“How much of this is bullshit, Hermione?” he asked carefully, and she could tell he was testing her.

“None of it,” she said firmly, looking into his eyes. “I erred by kissing him without talking to you about it first. I feel guilty about that, just in case you see that feeling in my face. But I don’t have an interest in him aside from a friends-with-benefits sort of situation.”

“And why is that?” Snape asked crisply.

Hermione let her hand wind into his own. “Fundamentally, he doesn’t have the same level of intellectual engagement that I need.”

They studied each other for a while, and then Snape took a deep breath and laughed.

“If I am deceived now,” he said, “then shame on me.”

“I’m not deceiving you,” she said. “I’m not good at deceit.”

“No, I suppose not,” he said, with a strained smile. “All right. Have your thing with Longbottom. I certainly can’t tell you not to.”

“Thanks for your blessing,” Hermione said, “but what else are you thinking about? There’s something you’re not saying.”

Snape shrugged. “I’m mostly embarrassed that I felt threatened at all. By *Longbottom* of all people.”

“He’s got good qualities,” Hermione said in Neville’s defense, “just not the kind of qualities I need for someone of more primary importance in my life.”

“Have I already risen so high in your estimations?” Snape asked with a sharp laugh.

“Yes!” Hermione said. “How can you doubt that?”

He shook his head and hid his face. “Instead of saying something vicious, I’m going to take what you’re saying at face value. Now Hermione,” he said with a grimace, “I’m hungry, which makes my mood more unpleasant. You should feed me and prove me that you’re *really* into fat men.”

“Not only am I *really* into fat men,” Hermione said with a shiver, “I’m into *really fat* men.”

“Then let’s set about making me fatter.”

He reclined back on the blanket and laid a hand on his stomach provocatively.

“No matter how fat Longbottom gets under your healing custody,” he said, “I fully intend to be exponentially fatter.”

Hermione shivered and leaned in to kiss him. “Thanks for keeping your darker parts in check for me,” she said. “I’m sure it’s difficult.”

“Difficult as fuck,” he said, “especially when I’m hungry. Feed me, witch.”

“Okay, you don’t need to ask twice,” Hermione said with a laugh, and she went back to the basket.

**  
**  


…………….

Note: I forget which year Malfoy canonically graduated, I think it was actually like five years before Severus’ graduation. But whatever, in this story he’s a 7th year when Severus is a 5th year.

## Also: if you want to see what I’m seeing in my head as far as the moors go, google “Loch Ness, Glencoe and Scottish Highlands Day Tour from Glasgow” (with quotes) and on the first hit, look at the picture with a rock in the foreground. The yarrow plants aren’t there, but otherwise it’s a good visual image. Also yes, I did research on plants of the region. ;)  Some combination of that and the picture that comes up when you google “South from Holcombe Moor, Greater Manchester, England” (with quotes).

**  
**


	18. picnic heather, pince, self destruction

The sun came out for the third or fourth time that afternoon, casting the moor in a golden light, making Snape’s perfect - *perfect* - dark hair glisten.

 

She grabbed the plate of cheese and bread and lay down next to him, and he readjusted himself so that they were both looking at one another, and he rested one hand on his belly and propped up his head with his other arm folded beneath his neck.

 

Without a word, she broke the rind off the hearty bread, smothered it in the cool, creamy butter from the basket, and offered it to his lips. They opened hungrily, and stole it from her fingers, licking the butter off her fingertips to follow.

 

“More,” he implored, moving closer to her on the blanket, inching his body sideways like a large fat seal on the beach.

 

“You’re so round,” she said admiringly, and she folded the entire rest of the slice of buttered bread in her hand over twice, and then squished it together until it formed a ball, and then she dipped it in the butter again and put it in his hungry mouth. “It looks like we’ve got a lot in this wonderful basket of yours, so I hope you also brought your appetite.”

 

“When do I ever forget it?” he said with a low, delicious growl, and suddenly his lips were sucking the place where her second chin was forming so subtly.

 

“I… I like that,” she whimpered, “but here.”

 

She pushed another ball of smooshed bread into his mouth, and he chewed thoughtfully, sighing and moaning as he tasted the creamy butter in the center, and he lay back again.

 

“Don’t you dare stop,” he said, laying on his back, folding his arms behind his head.

 

“You’re just the biggest fucking fat cat in the universe,” she observed lowly, pushing another ball of bread into his mouth. He chewed happily on it, and as soon as he swallowed she put another one into his mouth. She found herself making balls of bread with one hand while stuffing them in his face with the other, and oh, she could practically see his belly expandiing.

 

The whole loaf of bread was running low soon, however, and Snape’s eyes were attentive and alert to this fact. Hermione pretended she didn’t notice, never stopping her feeding of him, and just when she stuffed the last ball of bread in his mouth, he began to say something, but she shut him up with a kiss and grabbed her next choice of food from the basket - a large jar of creamy white mozzerella balls with basil and tomato.

 

And with a deft twist, the jar lid was off, and she let her fingers sneak into the sixteen-ounce jar and grab a fistful of the cool, sweet-smelling cheese, and she popped one into his mouth without breaking her pace.

 

“Mmmm,” he whimpered as she successfully stuffed a ball of cheese into his mouth the very moment he swallowed the last of the bread, “you do know how to please a man.”

 

He was so cute, chewing the cheese in the back of his mouth so he could speak (if garbledly), and his entire cheek puffed out, full and stuffed.

 

“I try,” Hermione said, then stuffed another two balls in his mouth as soon as he could swallow the last one, and to her delight he stuffed those in either cheek and chewed them both at once.

 

“I like you with your mouth full,” she purred, kissing him on either cheek, and rubbing the great expanse of his belly. It wobbled, flabby and growing, and it aroused her beyond words.

 

He swallowed again and opened his mouth wide, and she repated the process, and he chewed both balls salaciously.

 

She realized it took him quite a bit longer to chew two at once, however, so she settled back to stuffing him bite by bite once he swallowed those.

 

Soon the cheeses were gone, and Hermione was looking in her own expandable bag for vittles.

 

“Just want to get rid of all the perishables,” she said with a smile as Snape looked at her expectantly, hunger in his eyes despite having eaten so much already. What she brought out of it made him shiver with anticipation visibly, his entire jellylike abdomen jiggling as she showed him what she’d brought.

 

“I’m going to be so fat,” he groaned, opening his mouth, “So very, very fat.”

 

“And you’re going to like it,” cooed Hermione. She’d stolen an entire cake from the Great Hall, and it was one of the most desireable ones, by her estimation. Sweet molten white chocolate frosting topped the thick, fatty, breadlike pound cake, and it was truly enormous, nearly as big as Snape’s gut. It was big enough to feed an entire house.

 

“How on earth are you going to get that thing into me?” he mumbled, as she got a fork from the basket.

 

“Bit by bit, my darling,” she whispered, “how else can you eat an elephant?”

 

He looked at her quizzically, and she replied, “oh, a Muggle saying.”

 

“Someday,” he said with a seductive grin, “I’d like to eat an entire elephant. A nice fat one.”

 

“You can only prepare for that beautiful day by eating every single bite of this cake,” Hermione said, her tongue passing over her lips. She licked some of the scrumptious buttercream icing. “Except for that bit, I guess.”

 

He grabbed his belly from underneath, squeezing his fat through his dark button-down shirt, and he opened his mouth with a moan of hunger.

 

She didn’t need him to ask, and she stuffed an enormous chunk of the cake into his face. The landing wasn’t clean, since she’d overestimated the size of his mouth, and his face was covered with buttercream, but he sucked it down obediently, swallowing and chewing bit by bit until his mouth was empty again, and he licked his lips.

 

“More,” he demanded, and she obeyed, despite the fact that she really wanted to lick the extra buttercream off of his adorable chubby face. He looked like such a glutton, she loved it.

 

But she herself was getting hungry, and so she tore off part of the cake for him and stuffed it in his mouth, but she also stuffed another part in her mouth.

 

He immediately sucked down what she’d put in his mouth, and he murmured “Oh god,” his eyes transfixed on her. “Again.”

 

She responded positively, and took another nice big handful of cake and shoved it down her gullet, same with Snape, and he was rubbing his belly more and more determinedly.

 

“Starting to feel it,” he said with a low rumble, rolling back and forth in an effort to get more comfortable, “but don’t stop. Let’s see how much I can take. Fill me to capacity.”

 

So she proceeded with this goal in mind. She put slice after slice of cake in his mouth, and he swallowed and burped and stuck out his tongue, and huffed and took deep, painful breaths, and then opened his mouth for more.

 

Oh yes, his face was starting to get red, and he was starting to sweat with the effort of chewing and swallowing, and Hermione kept pushing, and pushing, and pushing him to accept bite after bite.

 

But eventually he wasn’t able to any more, and shook his head, lips closed, and he looked about ready to be sick.

 

“You look about done,” Hermione said, and began to gently rub his overstuffed tummy.

 

He groaned with pleasure and pain, but kept his lips tightly pressed together.

 

“You need to rest for a bit,” Hermione said, stroking him fondly. “You just rest. You definitely outdid yourself this afternoon.”

 

He nodded ever so slightly, and his entire stomach rose and fell as he burped a little, making a little bit of room.

 

“Good digestion you’ve got,” she said with a smile, stroking the lower, intestinal part of his belly. “I wonder if there are potions that might help to speed it up?”

 

He didn’t respond, but rolled his eyes.

 

“Oh,” she murmured, “I guess that was a dumb question. Of course there are potions.”

 

He swallowed and rasped, a snail-like smile spreading across his face, “Don’t you think I’m doing enough damage on my own without potions?”

 

“Oh, erm,” Hermione said, chewing her lip, “if you don’t want to try them, then by all means, forget I said anything.”

 

He just gazed at her with blissfully sated eyes, and ever so gently rubbed his belly, careful not to slosh it.

 

“Maybe,” he said, lowly, “I’d like to try sometime.”

 

Hermione gently laid down next to him, both hands gently massaging his gut, and he moaned and shivered with pleasure. Her hands, as they traveled, ran over the line where his trousers cut across his belly, and with a gentle hand, she tucked her hand up his shirt and pulled them down, and undid the belt and buttons. While they’d been perfectly-fitting at the beginning of this afternoon, by now they were just hanging together for dear life.

 

“Oh god,” Snape moaned with pleasure, “oh god.”

 

Hermione’s hands wandered a little bit lower, and found Snape’s hard cock.

 

“You want me to fuck you?” she asked kindly, pulling his pants down and her skirt up.

 

He just nodded, completely relinquishing control of the situation to her.

 

She cast the regular spells and eased herself down onto his cock. It was harder than she’d ever felt it before, and it nearly felt fit to burst itself. His veins were clearly visible in the autumn sun, and his cock was as pink as a rose.

Looking up at him, she admired the way his belly towered over the rest of his body. He looked truly like a beached whale, too fat to get up or even move, but desperately hungry to be pleasured.

 

And pleasure him she would.

 

She peeled apart her labia, drew the clitoral hood, and made sure that her clit rubbed against Snape’s nice fat pubic area, where it was stimulated by the hot, jiggling flesh unlike anything else.

 

Then she started thrusting, relishing the control she had over the way his cock felt in her body, able to get exactly the right angle at any given moment.

 

Snape moaned and moaned. Having come just over an hour before, however, he was not ripe to come again for some time, which Hermione savored.

 

She was quite unexercised in having sex on top, given she mostly pleasured herself lying flat on her back, so it was hard to maintain the stamina, particularly how heavy she was. She thought back briefly to how it’d felt last time she’d been on top, with Ron.

 

Granted, Ron generally liked her to ride him the opposite way, not facing him. She’d been dismayed because she couldn’t see his belly (which was washboardlike and insubstantial, except after Christmas when it was a little more soft than usual). He’d prefered to see only her ass, it seemed like.

 

So she was worn down very quickly and had to take multiple breaks. She stimulated her clit with her fingers as she paused for breath.

 

Finally, Snape growled and patted her on the arse.

 

“You’re too fat and lazy to ride me,” he said, rolling over gently, “I don’t mind. In fact, I like it. Get those untoned thighs over here,” he said, gesturing for her to stand over him.

 

She did, and took off her dres entirely, and lowered herself down until he could lick her cunt, and she could rest her head on his belly. She supported herself on her hands, and her feet both made their own nests in the dirt, but ultimately she was the one supporting herself.

 

And oh, Snape knew how to use his tongue on more than just food. He licked up and down her genital area, seducing her clit with his soft warm wet tongue, so thorough and precise in his movements, sucking and needling her most sensitive spots with the finesse of a Renaissance painter sculpting a beautiful Grecian goddess.

 

And Hermione felt her cervix tense up with pleasure, knotting up and releasing gloriously, and she cried out aloud, not heard by anyone other than the drying flowers, the rippling brook, and her lover.

 

She collapsed on her side on the blanket, exhausted and still exquisitely pleasured.

 

Snape licked his lips, savoring the taste of her juices, and smiled at her. There was an uncommonly beautiful look in his eyes.

 

Hermione took many deep, deep breaths, but wasn’t able to say much of anything. She just touched his belly, which was heaving with every breath he took, and she poked him gently. The fat of his belly rippled, making him moan.

 

“God,” he whimpered, “suck me?”

 

Hermione nodded, and began to ease herself up.

 

But he raised his hand as she propped herself up and prepared to rise.

 

“Wait,” he bid, and gestured for her to scoot closer to him. When she did, he grabbed of of her lovehandles and kneaded it.

 

“You’re getting so fat,” he said with a hushed voice. “All that cake going to your flabby gut. How long will it take for people to notice, do you think?”

 

“People have already begun to notice,” Hermione said, smiling. “Ron was commenting on it last week.”

 

“Yes,” Snape said, with a hiss. “If a Weasley can notice, then it’s definitely not gone unmarked by others in the school. How long will it be, do you think,” he added with a chuckle, “before McGonagall institutes a mandatory physical exercise requirement for all students and staff?”

 

“With my gut growing the way it is,” Hermione responded sweetly, “I’d say no later than New Year’s.”

 

“Yes,” he replied, and gingerly turned himself over so that his belly was no longer facing up, but he was lying on the side. He grabbed her with both hands and started kneading her belly more vigorously. “It’s so flabby,” he said, affectionately, “like dough. So soft. So beautiful.”

 

He reached down and started stimulating his cock, and Hermione had the idea of changing positions so that she was sitting up, and her belly was trapping and stimulating Snape’s cock.

 

It didn’t quite work, since Hermione didn’t really have any drooping overhang to speak of, and therefore very little flexibility in her belly fat,  but she did have boobs, so she turned and put them on either side of his cock and let him fuck them.

 

He ejaculated quickly all over her breasts, and rolled back onto his back.

 

“God,” he murmured, “I haven’t had this much fun, ever.”

 

Hermione wiped herself off with the corner of the blanket and lay down next to him again. “I’m still hungry,” she said, and lay down like he did on the blanket, hands folded behind her head. “My turn to be fed.”

 

“Oh god damn,” he said, sitting up slowly, one hand resting on his enormous and over-stuffed belly. “I’m going to have to wank myself again just looking at you eat.”

 

“What’s taking so long?” she responded coolly, and he shook his head as he stabbed one of the last slices of cake with a fork, and lowered it to her gaping mouth.

 

“Who’s going to get so very fat?” he said, as she moaned with pleasure into the cake. “You are. You’re going to get so fat and round, you won’t be able to move.” He fed her bite after bite, until the remainder of the cake was gone.

 

“What else have we got?” he asked, as he opened her endless bag, one hand resting warmly on Hermione’s belly. She shuddered with pleasure as his fingers moved slightly as he adjusted his body into a more comfortable position.

 

“Oh. Yes. This should do nicely.” He opened  a box of Bertie Bott’s Just the Sweet Ones and tilted it over her mouth, along with a bottle of pop. He poured a little pop into her mouth, then a handful of beans. “Don’t chew, just swallow. Like you’re taking pills.”

 

Hermione did as she was told, opening her mouth and swallowing the beans. It was easier said than done, but she eventually managed to swallow them all.

 

“I need to chew,” she murmured, “I almost choked.”

 

“Sorry.” His face got red with embarrassment. “That’s an elementary mistake.”

 

“Well, it’s not like we’re not both starting to experiment,” Hermione said, “come on, give me some more, but I’ll chew them.”

 

He obliged willingly, though his resilience was not as quick as Hermione’s own. He still appeared chastised, so Hermione tried to help make up for it by emphasizing how good the food was.

 

“Now give me some marshmallow,” she said, “I think there’s some in there.”

 

He found a large jar of it, and he grabbed a spoon. “Just like this?” he asked with a smirk.

 

“Yeah,” she said with a smile.

 

“It’s straight sugar and lard,” he said, nearly crowing with excitement. “It’ll go straight to your growing belly.”

 

“My intentions exactly,” Hermione said, “I’ve got quite a bit of catching up to do.” She patted his tummy, so broad and bulgy. “And take your shirt off. I like admiring your careful handiwork.”

 

He nodded, and shrugged off his shirt with some effort. Soon his wobbly belly flopped out, and he grabbed his coat and put it on, though did not button it.

 

“Perfect,” Hermione said, and nodded. “Get that marshmallow and spoon it into my mouth. Quickly now!”

 

He obeyed without a word, and kept her mouth full for the next half hour.

 

Oh! Once they were done! Hermione felt so satiated, bloated, and a little sick. Snape seemed to be better, and was already licking the spoon once Hermione couldn’t anymore, and he was rubbing her tummy in the most gentle and loving of ways.

 

“What time is it?” she mumbled through the stupor of pleasant overwhelming sweetness.

 

He grabbed his wand from the coat’s sleeve-pocket and waved it once.

 

“Nearly time for dinner,” he said, “we’d better leave, lest we miss it.”

 

He was clearly dismayed by this prospect.

 

“Unless,” Hermione said, sitting up as much as she could given her overstuffed belly, “let’s go back to my rooms, or your rooms, or whatever, and sleep this off, then get up and have an excellent feast at midnight?”

 

He smiled, sitting back on his nice fat arse. “Let’s do this.”

 

Hermione was glad that they were magic, because quite simply, if she were a Muggle, she wouldn’t have been able to gather all of their things and get off the hill without taking a nap.

 

Snape, fortunately, was a little more alert than she was, and he guided her in getting dressed again and grabbed her arm to apparate.

 

“Let’s go,” he whispered, embracing her, and he kissed her tenderly on the lips as they whisked away from the hill.

 

………

They arrived back at Hogwarts without any notable events taking place. No one intercepted the groggy, euphoric couple as they walked through the yard. The sun was setting, and the chill was starting to pick up, so they moved as quickly as they could manage.

 

However, as they walked past the Great Hall, Roveric - the younger student Hermione had punished before - saw them walking, arm in arm. His eyes grew wide, particularly as he saw their hands twined together, and he ran off.

 

“Ugh,” Hermione said, “that one’s a troublemaker.”

 

“Never mind him,” Snape said loudly, his voice nearly delirious, “I’m walking with the most beautiful witch in the castle.”

 

“Shh,” she said, but the damage was done. As it happened, Irma Pince showed up, looking even more anemic and thin than Hermione had ever seen her.

 

“What are *you* doing?” she said crisply to the two of them.

 

“What do you think?” scowled Snape, grasping Hermione possessively, “We’re going to bed each other.”

 

“Heavens!” the old witch said with an icy voice, “the scribblers get their just deserts at last. You two deserve each other,” she snapped, “both of you, who could never respect a *single* library book by letting it speak for itself! Scribbles - SCRIBBLES in the margins,” she said, hissing. “How will you like it when life *scribbles* all over you, eh?” she said, and stalked away moodily.

 

Hermione and Snape, so out of it as it was, looked at each other and burst into laughter.

 

“Okay,” Hermione said, nearly choking on her own saliva, “I’m so glad to know I’m not the only one she hates.”

 

“Somehow,” he said in response, “I had no idea there was a staffmember who hated you, aside from me.”

 

“What?” Hermione said, becoming sober all of a sudden. “You hated me?”

 

“-not quite the right word,” Snape said, taking a deep breath. “Found your prodigious skills overrated because you’re a Gryffindor, yes. I got very vociferous in staff meetings telling heads of houses precisely which students of theirs were just as good as you, though granted I was guilty of just a little bit of exaggeration. I had a reputation for dismissing you, actually,” he said, and he seemed taken aback by what he was saying. “Oh. Erm. Well.”

 

She turned to him with ice in her eyes. “You actively made my life harder?” she said.

 

“It wasn’t personal,” he said with a shrug. “I appreciated you, but I wasn’t intimidated by you like most of the other professors on staff. And instead of giving you the credit you were due, I thought it was a good idea to highlight the skills of others who were being overlooked because you outshone them so greatly.”

 

Hermione shook her head. “Let’s talk about this some other time,” she said, “I’m too loopy to think about it.”

 

“That’s fine,” he said, and added, as they continued walking to the staff wing, “I don’t expect you to understand me or forgive me. I’ve been an absolute arse to you most of your life.”

 

“Well,” Hermione said, reflecting for several moments, “I guess I expect you to make it up to me as best you can, now.”

 

They arrived at her bedroom, and Hermione unlocked the door and let them both in.

 

Neither delayed in taking off their clothes and curling up in bed. Hermione only paused to throw some sparks in the fire with her wand, and they both lay down together with the roar of the warm fire to light their path to the bed.

 

Snape lay down and wrapped his arms protectively around Hermione, and laid his face in the nape of her neck.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m such a damnable fool.”

 

She grabbed his hands and put them on top of her growing belly, not saying anything.

 

They lay this way for several moments, and then Hermione noticed Snape was shaking - not pleasurably, but uncontrolledly, with great heaving painful breaths.

 

Then she noticed her skin feeling hot drops of wetness at the back of her neck, then slowly rolling down her back.

 

Snape was crying. Flat-out crying. Silently, holding in his sobs, crying.

 

She turned around immediately, and wrapped her arms around him, and rocked slightly.

 

“It’s okay,” she whispered, “let it out.”

 

He shook his head with a shivering gesture, and Hermione grabbed her wand and cast a brief muffilato spell so that in case any of the neighbors were around, they wouldn’t hear.

 

“It’s all right,” she whispered again, “Everything’s all right. Don’t be afraid to cry. It’s okay.”

 

And then, only then, did he allow himself to sob openly.

 

He took great shuddering breaths, burying his face in her soft shoulder, and the emotional pain was tangible.

 

Hermione just stroked his hair, full of sadness herself, but also puzzled. What had brought on this? Was he just overwhelmed, or was there something more going on?

 

Once he’d gotten out much of the physical elements of his crying, she kissed his forehead and whispered, “Severus? What’s going on in your head?”

 

This brought on another round of sobs, and he wrapped himself more tightly around her.

 

“Come on,” she whispered, grasping him tightly in return, “talk to me.”

 

“I…” he tried to say, but stumbled over his words. “I… I just have an unconscious drive to self-destruct whenever I’m happy for a moment,” he finally managed to breathe out. “Nothing good can stay. If it’s staying longer than expected, I try and destroy it. If someone good is in my life, I try and distance myself. Because I don’t deserve good things,” he said with a sob, his face pinned against her with the salt of his tears, which still flowed down. “I can’t fucking let myself be happy.”

 

“It’s okay,” Hermione said, kissing him tenderly again, “don’t pressure yourself into feeling happy if you’re not happy. And if you’re happy but struggling to remain so, it’s all right. You’re all right. You haven’t destroyed anything.”

 

“But… I have,” he whimpered, and he kept on crying.

 

“What have you destroyed?” Hermione asked gently, but he couldn’t respond. He just couldn’t stop crying, his body was convulsing with sobs and there seemed to be no end to them.

 

“It’s okay,” she whispered over and over again, and finally, peacefully, his crying slowed to a low, murmuring, whimper, with the occasional staccato of a sob.

 

“Shhh,” she whispered, “it’s all right.”

 

She realized the conversation was over when he finally seemed to have fallen asleep.

 

It was mysterious, she thought, as she looked at the beautiful large man with his arms around her, but one that she could explore in the morning.

 

She closed her own eyes and, rocking him gently still, let herself fall asleep.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	19. sev mortified re: psych issues

She awoke, and found that the space next to her in bed was unoccupied.

 

Honestly, she wasn’t that surprised. As she’d drifted off to sleep the night before, she had felt that Snape might not be able to handle the embarrassment of revealing his emotions to her. Now she had to think about how to get him back - assuming she wanted him back. Part of her wondered if all of this was really worth it.

 

She got up, draped herself in the dressing gown that he’d given her - it was quite roomy on her, and she wondered what it looked like on his large frame - and went into the main room, clucking her tongue for Crookshanks. She was amused to think that her poor kneazle was probably startled by the goings-on of the night before.

 

She wasn’t expecting Snape to be in her sitting room, darkly staring into his coffee as though bracing himself against a formidable foe.

 

“Hey,” she said, and approached him, extending her hand.

 

His eyes didn’t move, but he did extend his hand, and she took it, and clasped it warmly.

 

“How are you this morning?”

 

“Better,” he begrudgingly mumbled, and he let go of her hand and sipped his coffee. He appeared skeptical of it.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, desperate for him to give some kind of explanation.

 

He snorted, her own feelings far too apparent on her face. “Well, *you* clearly want to.”

 

“If you want to,” she replied, and turned to grab some coffee from the pot that he seemed to have brewed on her stove. “Sorry,” she said, grabbing a mug from the counter, “my blend might not be to your taste.”

 

“It’s acceptable,” he said, his tone barely civil, just a hair away from a snarl.

 

She poured herself a mug, found Crookshanks glaring at them both from the safety of the top of the bookcase, poured Crookshanks’ breakfast into a bowl on the floor, and went to join Snape in sitting in front of the fire.

 

“Hungry?” she asked, and he nodded, reluctantly.

 

“Not really,” he said, “but I should have something.”

 

“That’s right,” she said, and gently squeezed his hand. “Do you want to call Lowly, or just want some biscuits?”

 

“Biscuits, for the moment,” he responded, and Hermione got up again and went to the cabinet, where she got out her package of biscuits, and brought them back.

 

“Thanks,” he said, as she pressed one into his hand, and he begrudgingly nibbled it, clearly without an appetite.

 

“So what was all that about?” Hermione said, not willing to wait longer than she had to to get information.

 

He groaned. “What do you *think*?”

 

She didn’t know what to think, so she remained quiet until, with a roll of his eyes, he said, “Lily. Always fucking intruding on everything. I thought it was over,” he said, taking a deep breath, “because I haven’t felt this kind of grief for years now.”

 

He took a deep breath and leaned back against the backrest, and laid his head on the back of the chair, clearly in pain.

 

“I thought this grief was gone forever. That I was Over It. But I think being here... being here has shown me that these... feelings... were just dormant, waiting for me to come back here. Or start having a serious relationship with someone. Or both at the same time.”

 

Hermione nodded. “I don’t understand, but I’m listening,” she said.

 

“Look.” He sat up and looked at her, a kind of fierce anger in his face that wasn’t often there anymore. “When you’re as fucked up as I am, even the slightest thing can twist my mood from *nearly content* to overwhelming despair. I was more disturbed than I let on by seeing those deer on the moors, though I tried my best not to let them bother me.”

 

Hermione nodded, just listening.

 

“Then,” he said, his knuckles white on the handle of his mug, “when we were returning, and I started telling you how I was so privately cruel towards you, I realized I was actively hurting you, even though I didn’t mean to. And that lack of being able to control myself, and use my better judgment… that just brought me back to how I alienated *her,*” he said, his voice lowering, “and I don’t know that I can prevent that from happening with you.”

 

“You can,” Hermione said, “don’t let this kind of thinking write the narrative of your life.”

 

“What kind of advice is that?” he demanded, his face stern, but there was that hidden undertone of vulnerability and fear.

 

He retracted this quickly. “I’m sorry, I know you’re only trying to help.”

 

“I’m not doing a very good job,” Hermione said, and patted him on the shoulder softly. “So, erm, Severus?” (She didn’t feel entirely comfortable using his first name, even at this point. She made eye contact with him and he didn’t snap at her, so she took that as permission.) “I… I have to admire how well you’re able to describe all this and tell me what’s going on. It seems like you’re really self-aware about these issues. I’m really impressed.”

 

He nodded, somber.

 

“I’ve done a bit of work on myself,” he said. “It just hasn’t been enough.”

 

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, since this was a somewhat curious thing to say. “Work on yourself?”

 

He sighed. “I have a disease, Hermione.”

 

She raised her eyebrows, not sure if he was being metaphorical or not.

 

“If you’re going to tell me you’re a vampire,” she said, when he didn’t say anything, “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to believe you.”

 

He chuckled despite his gloom.

 

“No,” he said, “I almost wish that were the case. Then I’d have a chance in a fight with the likes of Remus Lupin.”

 

Hermione looked offended, and he apologized quickly. “Sorry, I knew better than to say that.”

 

“Apology accepted,” Hermione said, gravely.

 

Snape shook his head. “I know that you’ve always been an advocate for integrating Muggle medical concepts into our non-Muggle potions and such,” he said, “so I’m surprised you haven’t spouted out diagnoses for me already. There was that compelling second-year paper of yours that, while too ambitious, neatly laid out a variety of psychiatric disorders that correlated with symptoms of a selection of cursed potions.”

 

“Oh,” Hermione said, and looked at Snape hesitantly. “Honestly, I haven’t thought much about that particular theory at all since.”

 

“Well, I have,” Snape said, “and I think made a damned bit of good sense. Once I left Hogwarts,” he said, “initially I just floundered about, until I got myself the academic position at Oxford I’ve spoken extensively about. I went to a conference in London, and was invited to the United States for a year-long residency.”

 

He smiled vaguely. “I met Erika there, and we hit it off. But she saw how emotionally unbalanced I was,” he went on, “and she insisted I get support for it. Particularly since she specializes in psychopharmacology.” He shook his head. “Even as badly knocked about as my head was, I was so thoroughly twisted around her finger, I did the unthinkable - I went to a psychiatrist.”

 

He paused and took a deep breath, and Hermione gazed at him with fascination.

 

“You did,” she said, when it seemed like he was waiting for a response. “How did that go?”

 

“Well,” he said, and began laughing nervously. “I got a diagnosis of bipolar I disorder, is how that went. And the doctor gave me medication. And I didn’t plan on taking it.”

 

He shook his head. “Then I went back to Erika and complained that the doctor had told me to take medication, which was clearly not the brightest thing to tell someone whose specialty is psychiatric drugs. She listened to me bluster and fester about how I should be able to control my mind by sheer willpower, and how it was an insult to my skills at Occulmency.”

 

“Wait,” Hermione interposed, “You told her about being a wizard?”

 

“Oh,” he said, “Yes.”

 

She looked to him for more answers, and he shrugged. “I don’t want to talk about how and why. It was  a decision that was poorly logical, but all’s well that ends well.”

 

He shook his head to clear the air, and went on, “So she let me ramble about how I was above taking medication, and very simply she asked the question: if I was so successful without medication, would I call my current state of distress ‘success?’ And of course her point was clear. I was ragged and raw, and yet I refused medication that evidence demonstrated might help. So, she said, why not try it, in view of it being an experiment? Worst thing that could happen is that it wouldn’t work.”

 

He paused, putting one hand on top of his belly, and his stomach growled. He took another biscuit and ate the whole thing in a few bites. “And even though I was insulted, I took it.”

 

He sighed.

 

“I hated the side effects, and told them I wouldn’t take it, so they asked me to try another medication, and then another. And then, when neither of those did anything, they put me on lithium.”

 

He paused. “And my brain’s overdrive was finally able to quit. It was almost miraculous. I felt emotionally stable in a way that I’d only ever been able to manage with the heaviest Occulmency, which of course is not sustainable long-term. But somehow,” he said with a clear appearance of joy, “it made a difference that enabled me to feel like I was in control of myself. I could stop my brain from chewing on itself.”

 

“But,” he went on, “there was a major consequence I hadn’t expected: I got fat.”

 

Ah, it began to fit all together in Hermione’s mind.

 

“I was initially deeply embarrassed,” he said, morose. “I even stopped taking medication a few times. But my brain needed it too badly, and ultimately I was better off with the medication. Still is,” he said, with a note of apology. “Though I’m on less than I was back then. In any case,” he went on, “I had a growth spurt, and I stopped taking my shirt off for any reason. And Erika was sad about it,” he mused, “but I… I could imagine her eyes trailing over my body. She and Jean-Raoul are just so disgustingly *fit,* going hiking and jogging everywhere, and I just felt myself becoming a giant ball of blubber.

 

“I don’t think I could have lasted much longer in those conditions, so It was fortunate for us,” he went on, “that I ended up getting a new position in London the following school year, and I went back there, and I felt far more comfortable engaging with her virtually - over the phone and computer. She couldn’t grab my shirt and force me to take it off - which she never did, but I could tell she *wanted* to do - and I had some time alone to get used to my being fat.”

 

“So how did you come to terms with it?” Hermione asked, moving her chair closer to him so she could touch his belly.

 

“I still haven’t completely,” he admitted. “I sometimes see myself in the mirror and think it’s someone else. It’s… it’s unnerving, really. I took such a fierce pride in my leanness for so long. I scorned those who were even slightly pudgy because I felt like they were too soft. And now here I am.”

 

He closed his eyes, and his stomach rumbled again.

 

“There’s not many more biscuits,” Hermione said, and took one for her own stomach, which was beginning to gnaw on itself.

 

“Let’s order, in a moment,” he said, “a nice hearty breakfast. I’m feeling better now,” he added, with a smile. “Quite a bit.”

 

“I’m glad,” Hermione said, “so you still haven’t answered my question.”

 

“Well,” Snape said, taking the last two biscuits greedily, “Erika told me I should try and find someone to date. And after hearing me complain ad nauseum about my weight, she told me that *some women* found fat men attractive. And this… this completely threw me. I demanded proof, and she showed me links that some of her other kink companions participated in. And that opened an entirely new way of looking at it.”

 

Hermione smiled, “erm, links?”

 

“Oh,” he said, and rolled his eyes, but it was more good-natured than complainy. “The internet is composed of links. They take you hither and thither across the net.”

 

“I see.” Hermione clapped her hands - she was getting too hungry to wait any longer - and Lowly arrived.

 

“The regular for me, please,” she said crisply, and Snape also gave his order, keeping his eyes trained on Hermione the whole time.

 

“That’s a lot,” she said once he’d finished ordering.

 

“Not all of it is for me,” he said, grabbing her around her waist and lifting her onto his lap. “Soon, my sweet,” he said, kissing the base of her chin and sucking at her neck, “you’ll be too fat for me to lift like that.”

 

“Soon, *you’ll* be too fat to lift me like that!” Hermione replied with a giddy smile. “So ultimately, Erika both made you fat, and helped you find contentment in being fat.”

 

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly,” he said, “I mean, I was content with being fat - for, indeed, I was enchanted by the pleasure of touching my newfound flesh, and feeling it, and being able to eat with total abandon - aside from the fact that I thought it meant my dating pool would exclude any human creature with senses.”

 

“Well,” Hermione said, “it’s definitely more of a long-term attraction, for me. Though I’ve not been as aware of it as I am now until relatively recently.”

 

She described how she noticed Ron’s tum grow a little bit with each passing season, then grow flat again, and how sad she was once spring training started up again and that nice little bit of pudge would disappear.

 

“I didn’t realize I also liked a podgier self until I realized I’d put on a stone since graduation, and was enjoying pleasuring myself more than I’d ever enjoyed it before,” she said with a smile. “I recall always having enjoyed visualizing big fat bears going into hibernation, since I was a little tyke. But I didn’t make a sexual connection until I realized that shaming myself in front of the mirror for my newfound pounds, that had come on me from years of office work, turned me on.”

 

“I really like your body, by the way,” he added, touching her belly gently. “It’s luscious.”

 

“Thanks,” she replied, “I return the compliment.”

 

His cheeks definitely turned red, and he took a deep breath and kissed her.

 

“I can’t believe I’ve found this,” he said wistfully once their lips parted. “And I don’t want my mind and its games to crush it for us before it’s begun. That’s all I’m saying.”

  
“I have patience,” Hermione replied, and kissed him again hungrily. 


	20. potions experiment

Food arrived soon, and she began to stuff him with pastries, his usual favorites it seemed, and he sat with his mouth continuously open, chewing voraciously.

 

After a half-dozen crossiants to take the edge off, Snape settled into an enormous omlette of egg and vegetables, made with an entire dozen, laced with an almost-gruesome amount of hard cow’s cheese, and a delicious amount of flabby soft white goat cheese.

 

“That looks utterly delicious,” Hermione said, raising her fork over his plate.

 

He nodded assent, and she took a forkful. It was glorious, one of the finest, softest, chewiest omlettes she’d ever had, and the cheese oozed out of every bite so decadently.

 

“I see this going straight to your thighs,” she said with a laugh, patting his belly approvingly. “This food is so fattening. My mother would have told me it was ‘only for special occasions.’”

 

“Well,” Snape said with a crooked half-smile, “I see the entire rest of my life as a special occasion. I almost didn’t have one.”

 

She didn’t want to say anything, so she just kissed him on the cheek, affirming that, indeed, she was glad he had one too.

 

It was interesting, she thought as she tucked into her own delicious bacon, eggs, and fried potatos, how Snape seemed to wear his heart out on his sleeve sometimes, making his traumatic history into a joke for her to smile at. It was strange but oddly endearing, though it was overwhelmingly tragic when she thought about it. He was coping with it the best way he could, and hearing him poke jibes at his own expense was an unexpected side-effect of being part of his life. She wished he wouldn’t, because it made her feel bad to hear him, but she didn’t really know what the alternative was.

 

At least he didn’t pretend that his experiences had been overwhelmingly positive, in order to fake his way through. Sometimes Hermione felt like she herself was guilty of that.

 

“All right,” he said, shoving his plate away from him suddenly, only half the omlette successfully ensconsed in his belly, “I’m at the place where I’m actually getting full. And right now instead of stuffing myself silly, I think it’s time to pay a little more attention to your body.”

 

He suited the action to the word, and turned his chair to face her.

 

“What?” Hermione said, putting another mouthful of food in her mouth, “but I *like* watching you stuff yourself silly.”

 

“I will, I promise,” he said, “but later. Now,” he went on, putting a hesitant hand on her stomach, “I want to see you grow.”

 

Hermione shivered with pleasure. “I’m already pretty full,” she confessed. “Do you want to try something to help with that?”

 

He paused a moment, calculating.

 

“I don’t, by principle, like the idea of using magic in weight gain,” he said, leaning back and resting a hand on his tummy. “However,” he went on, “very occasional use, consensually, does not bother me the same way that some of the literature that exists on gaining does.”

 

“What other literature?” Hermione asked, taking another stab at her food.

 

“Erm,” he took a deep breath, “erotic literature?”

 

He didn’t seem to want to admit that he’d read any. Hermione just laughed.

 

“Oh. Okay. I guess there’s got to be writing on everything under the sun. I’ve written my own erotic literature a little bit, in my head, but I had no idea that other people actually wrote it down. I just know I’d be so ashamed if anyone found it, that’s why I never have.”

 

“I see,” Snape said carefully. “Well, some of it is *very* arousing, don’t misread me, but some of it is very *clearly* something that most people would prefer to remain in fantasy, not reality.”

 

“Like what?” Hermione demanded. Now, granted, she could *imagine* what he was talking about, but she also *really* wanted to hear him articulate it in his dark, sensuous voice.

 

He paused, seemed uncomfortable for a moment, and then said, “The other day, when we were fucking, you talked about imagining being… being so fat you could not move from your bed… Some people actually aspire for this,” he said with a flush of redness, “and others just write stories. In truth, I would probably not want such a reality.”

 

He swallowed dryly. “I admit that I’m scared, however. And what scares me is: I don’t know that I can entirely rule it out.”

 

Hermione nodded. “So you don’t know that this is something you don’t want,” she said, slowly.

 

“For me,” he said, with a nod, “it’s mostly about being able to eat, and eat, and eat, and never have to stop. And so in some ways, size does not matter - as long as I am able to eat until my belly is satisfied and overstuffed to the most pleasurable extent possible.  However,” he went on, “I cannot, in good conscience, accept a reality where I’m chained to a bed and force-fed a slush of weight gain powder and cream all day.”

 

“That’s not something I’d like for you, or any partner,” Hermione said with a gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Even if that’s what they wanted - I mean, I might try it as a scene in the bedroom,” she said, contemplating it, “but not for a permanent state of affairs.”

 

“I… I’d also try it as a scene,” he said with a whisper that revealed how nervous he was, but how titillating he found the idea.  He sighed, drawing his hair back from where it crowded his face. “Well. I’m glad we’re on the same page,” he added, and smiled a little more fully. “So, Hermione,” he said, his voice getting darker and more tempting, “I’ve got a couple of potions here, and I’d like to try them on you, if I may.”

 

“Mmm,” Hermione said, putting both hands on her belly, which bulged out in front of her after having eaten her whole plate - and then started tackling Snape’s leftovers besides. “I’m incredibly stuffed,” she confessed, “so unless you’ve got something that would help with that…”

  
“Yes,” he said and drew from out of his robe-pocket a small zippered pencil pouch, which he opened and revealed a series of vials. He looked at each of the labels closely, and then chose one, and gave it to Hermione.

 

“Six drops in your water,” he instructed her, “and drink it all. Now.”

 

She obeyed. The bottle was not well-used, but it had been clearly tried before - it was not freshly sealed.

 

“Your creation?” she asked, and he nodded. “What does it do?” She added it to her water and swirled it around.

 

“Drink it,” he said with a smile, “and you’ll feel.”

 

She obeyed, and at once she felt the tightness of her belly reduce as soon as the potiion landed in it. Her appetite perked up in a second wind, and she felt like her belly could swallow another couple of pints of food.

 

“So,” she said, and paused, “let me guess, it’s something that accelerates the enzymatic breakdown of the food in my belly?”

 

“No,” Snape said with a smug smirk. “Opposite effect. It’s not the amount in your stomach that gets smaller - for what then would the point of stuffing be? - but your stomach’s natural rebuilding mechanisms are accelerated to stretch and make more room around the food. But beware,” he added, and unbuttoned the bottom few buttons of his shirt, and showed her a series of oddly-congruent stretchmarks that seemed to be of the same age and lustre. Running his thumb over them, he said, “I got these from a single testing. It will be tempting to overstuff yourself beyond a place of comfortable fullness. Don’t overdo it, or you will regret it.”

 

“Oh phooey,” Hermione said with a laugh, with one hand pulling the rest of Snape’s meal in front of her, with her other raising Snape’s shirt so she could admire his vast tummy better. “How on earth do you expect me to catch up to you in size without getting a few lines on my belly? In fact,” she added, blushing slightly, “I’d consider them badges of honor. Scars of the battle.”

 

In response, he lifted up her nightshirt - she hadn’t gotten dressed - and touched her creamy white belly. “I’d just hate for this to get as scarred as mine,” he said, and bent down awkwardly and kissed her smooth white skin. “I want you to get fat for me, but not at the expense of-”

 

“-Too fucking bad,” Hermione cut him off with a snap.  “I think the marks are sexy, frankly. And it’s my body, so it’s going to look as scarred as I please. You’ve already given me the reigns, dear Severus, don’t you fucking try and take them from me now.”

 

She tucked into the omelette with new relish, and within a very few minutes it was completely gone.

 

“Glad we over-ordered,” she said with a smirk, as Snape watched with overwhelming fascination, and she stood and grabbed the tier of muffins and breakfast cakes. “I’m going to eat every single one of these.”

 

She then proceeded to sit her nice, plump rear down in her chair, and she stacked her plate high with muffins and cakes. Snape mutely grabbed a bowl of Chantilly cream and brought it to her elbow.

 

“Thanks,” she said kissing him on the cheek. “Now are you going to feed me, or not?”

 

He seemed to get over his reluctance, replying, “Fine,” and he took a toasted muffin, coated it in a thick layer of butter, topped it with delicious rosehip jam, and Hermione’s mouth grabbed it out of his hand as swift as a cat grabbing a mouse.

 

He gave her another muffin when she was done eating the first one, and then gave her a bit of a cake topped with an enormous dollop of Chantilly cream.

 

“That’s exquisite,” she whispered with a whimper, and then Hermione then hungrily tried to eat the entire bowl of cream.

 

Snape watched her, transfixed, as she took spoonful after spoonful.

 

Eventually it became too much for her, and she looked around for something to take the rich edge off the cream. Snape accommodated her and took some strawberries, which he then dipped into the cream and put into her waiting mouth.

 

She swallowed every bite with determination and grace. She had, after all, signed up to stuff herself a second time.

 

By the time she finally stopped, there was nothing left on the table that was edible - and her belly had tripled in size. It hung out in front of her, wobbling and sloshing, and angry red stretchmarks had made their home on her skin.

 

Snape did not seem as disgusted by them as he’d imagined, as he ran his hands over her belly gently, ever so gently.

 

“Did you outdo yourself completely,” he asked, cautious, “or did you add more than six drops to your water?”

 

Hermione shrugged.

 

“Twelve drops,” she said, cracking a smile.

 

He firmly frowned, but ran his fingers all up and down her stomach, sensuously taking in the size she’d swelled up to.

 

“You’ve always been ambitious,” he said with begrudging admiration. “Now if I’m not mistaken, you’ll be needing this.”

 

He opened the pouch of vials again and withdrew another vial. “Take twenty four drops of this and put it on your tongue,” he said, “and don’t adjust the dosage.”

 

Hermione was beginning to feel an enormous tummyache, the like of which she’d never felt before, and it was not at all pleasurable. She nodded and took the vial, and applied the drops to her tongue, and the pain reduced significantly, leaving her feeling only immensely - *immensely* - fat.

 

“Can you stand?” he asked, standing himself and offering his hand to her.

 

Hermione nodded, and with his help she stood, though she was tremendously off-balance.

 

“Sorry,” he added, “your balance issue is a side effect. Can’t be avoided, at least for the moment. But how is the pain?”

 

Hermione smiled bravely. “Ooof. I feel like I should only have taken six drops.”

 

“I don’t think that’s necessarily true,” he said, encouraging Hermione and her engorged belly to the bedroom. “The pain is not proportional to the amount you ate. I’m glad you stopped when you did, though,” Snape went on, assisting her in sitting on the bed, “I know it is possible for the stomach to become overtaxed, and split open, so I beseech you to be gentle with yourself for the next several hours.”

 

“Understood,” Hermione said, smiling. “Does that mean you won’t fuck me?”

 

She lay down on the bed and wiggled invitingly, both hands perched protectively on her belly.

 

Snape grabbed her hand and placed it on his trousers, where his cock lay, and she felt it straining against his pants, as hard as a rock.

 

“With great reluctance,” he answered, and with that, he shoved the nightshirt up Hermione’s belly, and, with practiced movements, he separated her legs and stuck his tongue up her cunt, laying on his belly on the bed.

 

She writhed and swore as he tasted her, she who was already so wet that her nightshirt was damp, and he kneaded and stroked her belly with one hand even as he licked and sucked at her clit and labias.

 

Finally she couldn’t take anymore, and he stripped off his own clothes and, without preamble, stroked himself until he came in his hand.

 

Breathless, he lay back with her on the bed, and did not protest as she unbuttoned his shirt.

 

“Look,” she said, sitting back and stroking her belly, “I’ve got marks now, too, and they match yours.”

 

He nodded, and as his shirt separated and revealed his massive rolling tummy, he rubbed his own belly for a few moments, though eventually he couldn’t resist touching her all over.

 

“You are so big,” he said admiringly. “So very big.”

 

After a few moments’ quiet, he added, “So how far do you want to go?”

 

“How far what?” Hermione asked, with a laugh.

 

He appeared somber, but his cheeks were flushing red.

 

“I mean,” he said with a smile, “what’s your end goal? How fat do you want to get?”

 

Hermione felt her face turn red as well.

 

“I… erm… I don’t know,” she confessed. “How about we re-evaluate in a month or two, once it’s no longer such a novelty to eat myself into oblivion with a sexy assistant like you?”

 

Snape nodded. “Understood,” he said with a twisted smile. “I, for myself, also need some time to think about it.”

 

They sat there listening to the silence of the room, breathing heavily together.

 

“By the way,” Hermione asked, “how much do you weigh right now?”

 

Snape paused. “I believe I am in the vicinity of three hundred and some-odd pounds. If I were taller, it’d look like less, I suppose, but on my frame, I’m more likely to look plumper than not.”

 

“We need to see for sure,” Hermione said, and waved a spell at him. The charm made him glow blue for a moment, and then the number ‘324’ hung in the air, followed by the image of a disapproving Vogue-esque witch with the caption, ‘Getting far too ample in the region of your tum-tum,’ and a list of recommendations for weight loss.

 

Snape was appalled by the charm, and his jaw dropped in disbelief.

 

“What?” Hermione asked, trying (but failing) to sit up to see his face better. “Was that not what you were expecting?”

 

He shook his head, “No,” he said, peering at the woman’s face. “No, that is *not* what I was expecting.”

 

“I’m not surprised, though,” Hermione said, moving and grabbing a handful of his delicious belly fat. “Three-hundred seemed a *trifle* low.”

 

“No,” he said staring at the witch in disbelief. “That’s not what I’m talking about. What on earth is that charm?” He grimaced. “It’s wretched.”

 

“Oh,” Hermione said, “It’s something I thought all the girls used in the dormitories. One of the Patil twins taught it to me. Is there something wrong?”

 

He looked at her askance. “Erm. *Yes,*” he snapped. “Is… is that *really* what they use in the dormitories?”

 

“I suppose so,” Hermione said, a bit taken aback. “Why?”

 

He shook his head. “I don’t like this. Do it again,” he said, and pointed at the bare coat rack across the room. “Try it on that.”

 

Hermione did, not quite sure what Snape was getting at.

 

The surly witch glared a little bit less as it covered the coat rack. “Quite good, quite good, but don’t forget to exercise,” read the caption, and the witch looked a touch less dismayed.

 

“Gods,” Snape said, and shook his head. “How demoralizing. Gods.”

 

Hermione cast it on herself, and saw the familiar tut-tut face on the witch, accompanying the caption, “Better had leave off the sweets, dearie, they’re starting to show around your middle.”

 

“I was so excited the day my ‘scope changed from ‘Think about trimming down your portions for a more svelte figure’ to this,” Hermione said with a smile.

 

Snape just shook his head, his jowls swaying. “And this is what you girls think of to torture yourselves with after hours?” he said with disapproval on his face.

 

“Well,” Hermione said, “I haven’t thought of it that way, but yes.”

 

He sat up laboriously on the edge of the bed “I’m banning this charm,” he said, “at least from my house.”

 

“My dear,” Hermione said, “Reginald Floss is head of Slytherin, now.”

 

Snape clearly had forgotten, and he sank back down onto the bed as he was reminded.

 

“Shit,” he said, and, rolling his tongue thoughtfully, he added, “I wish I had power again.”

 

Hermione turned herself over gently, slowly, so as not to pressure her belly. “Well, you can fix that here, if you want to,” she said with a wry smirk.

 

He swatted her - playfully? yes, playfully. Severus Snape was being playful. *The wonders never cease,* Hermione thought as she smiled at him.

 

“You know what I mean,” he rumbled, and he sat up again, eased himself out of bed, and went to the other room. He came back with a large package of crisps and a bowl of ice cream big enough to stuff him again.

 

“It’s a bit early for ice cream, isn’t it?” Hermione teased him with glee as he took spoon after spoon of it.

 

He shook his head. “And when do you think that will *ever* bother me?” he said fiercely, growling into it.

 

She laughed and watched him eat, though she extended her tongue for a bite or two herself.

 

“I love watching you,” she whispered, “I know that it’s all just going into that nice deep gut to make it spread out a little more, inch by inch. How much do you think you’ve got there?” she added as she burped a little, making more room to swallow another couple of bites.

 

“Something in the vicinity of three pints,” he said, and shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s magic food, it doesn’t come in boxes. Isn’t it odd how Muggle food comes in boxes? I never realized how odd it was until I was an adult.” He shook his head.

 

“Anyhow,” he said, once he was slowing down, “I think I could get up to about five hundred pounds before I’d think about…slowing my intake.”

 

Hermione nearly came right at the thought. “You, five hundred pounds,” she said, and began to reach for her clit. It was a bit awkward to reach, with her belly in the way, but she managed it. “I can see it.”

 

“Though I’m fairly sure,” he went on, getting more comfortable on the bed and letting his gut wobble ominously in front of him, “I would not be happy if, at any weight, I was unable to get my cock inside your fat, fat cunt.”

 

Hermione nodded passionately. She knew that would be a dealbreaker for her as well.

 

“So, until that point,” Snape said, rubbing his belly to ease some of the stuffing pain, “I’d be content.”

 

“Of course we’re not talking about health at all, here,” Hermione said, feeling sober for the first time in this conversation.

 

Snape looked at her dead on.

 

“Hermione,” he said, “you should think about that for yourself, and yourself only.”

 

He took another heaping spoonful of ice cream. “I want you to know this,” he said, his voice very low and dangerous, “I’m done supervising my health. My life and health were both sworn to Dumbledore for so long, I’m pleased to finally have the freedom to trash my body if I want to. I don’t have to think about anyone except my own sorry arse, and my own sorry arse gets turned on by eating until I’m fit to burst, so that’s what my sorry arse will get.”

 

He shook his head. “I don’t have to worry about staying healthy to protect Lily’s child. He’s an adult. My role in his life is done. I don’t have to worry about protecting the school, or anyone else. My role as a protector is over. I will not be Mad-Eye Moody,” he went on, “screaming in kids’ ears to get them to stop dawdling in the halls. I will not be waiting for the Dark Lord to come back. Because he won’t.”

 

He took a deep breath, and glanced at her. She was looking at him empathetically.

 

“Listen,” he went on, “I don’t ask for you to understand, I just ask for you to not bother me about it.”

 

“All right,” she said, but he went on, turning to her and looking deeply into her eyes.

 

“I’m going to get obscenely fat, and I’m probably die because of it. And I don’t give a flying fuck.” His face, growing white, revealed his emotions, even though he was continuing to stuff his face,

 

“I don’t give a flying fuck about your feelings at all in this regard.” He shook his head. “Am I eating myself to death? Maybe. But that’s my choice to make.”

 

He took a deep heaving breath, and finished off the ice cream. “So bring on diabetes, high blood pressure, cholesterol. If Slughorn could make it to whatever ridiculous age he’s made it to, then that probably bodes well for me. I’m hoping my wizard blood is better than that of my father.”

 

He sighed. “But even if it doesn’t,” he said, trembling with emotion, “well, that’s on me. And I reserve the right to choose to live in such a way that I could potentially die of a heart attack at fifty.”

 

Hermione had to think for a moment about all this. Didn’t he value her, and living with her to a ripe old age?

 

Of course she realized she was jumping the gun a little, but still!

 

“Moreover,” he added, reading her face, “I ask you not to take this personally.”

 

“I’m trying not to,” she said, nodding, but still struggling. “But, I mean… don’t you want to live a life for yourself? You were telling me about your tendency to self-destruct… don’t you think this might be part of that?”

 

“I’m sure it is,” he said grimly, “self-sabotage or what-have-you. I’m not going to examine it too closely. But whatever. I’m done. I’ve made enough marks on the world. If I died tomorrow, I’d die happy.”

 

He put down the bowl, and added, “I hope you can live with my ambiguous feelings about life. If not, I understand.”

 

Hermione shook her head. “I mean,” she added, “I hope that eventually you won’t feel like you’ve spent all of your life that is worth spending, and that eventually you won’t feel like caring for your health isn’t an obligation you have to make to others, but a chore like brushing your teeth - just good hygiene to protect yourself.”

 

She paused. “I’d like you to feel that you’re worth it, and that your life is worth it.”

 

“Well,” he said, rolling his eyes, “I don’t feel that way now.”

 

“Yeah,” she said, and she leaned towards him and kissed his cheek. “Maybe someday you will. And I hope I can see you live to the fullest, until then.”

 

“Fine,” he said, though his cheeks were red. “As long as you let me eat myself into an early grave if I so choose.”

 

“Agreed,” Hermione said, and she gingerly wrapped her leg around his. “I can scarcely contain my excitement for you to weigh over five hundred pounds,” she said giddily, “You’d be a full meal for the Giant Squid instead of just a tasty snack.”

 

“If that’s the scale you’re using,” Snape responded teasingly, “you’re scarcely a nibble at the moment.”

 

“Mm,” Hermione said, “I can’t wait to be a full meal myself.”

 

Snape looked at her hungrily. “How are you feeling at the moment? Still stuffed?”

 

Hermione poked and prodded her tummy. “There’s a little room in there.”

 

“Good,” he said, and pulled his trousers and pants off. “Then let me finally get my cock inside you.”

 

“Ooh,” she whimpered, and they started having marvelous sex, which I’m going to save until next chapter.

  
  



	21. sexy sexy sexy chips

He stuffed his cock inside her, and she felt her body move underneath her belly - or was it her belly that moved above her body? Either way, something moved, and her belly sloshed vigorously up and down as he thrust into her, over and over.

 

She felt the feeling of his nice fat package, and relished it, as well as the feeling of his nice fat pubic area hitting up against her clit. Oh, it was a magical feeling. It was better than she imagined, and she felt fuller than she ever could have anticipated.

 

"You're so juicy," she purred as he moved, his efforts slow and accompanied by his heavy breathing.

 

"I'm unexercised, is what I am," he said, panting. "And too stuffed to do a properly good job."

 

"Shut up," she whimpered, "you're blowing my mind."

 

"Oof," he responded, and readjusted his belly so that it was resting on top of hers instead of jamming against the underside of hers. "That's a bit better."

 

She squirmed with delight as his landings got better and better contact. "You're so nice and plump," she whimpered, "I love it. I really don't think I could go back to a thin man. Not possible."

 

Snape's face - she was watching it, despite the fact that she was closing her eyes with almost every delicious thrust he made into her - was impassive.

 

"Okay," he said, as she started to feel his sweat drip onto her body, "you, turn over. On your knees." He withdrew from her, and kept stroking. His cock was hard and soaking wet, from the curls at the base of the pillar to the tip of his phallus, which was throbbing visibly.

 

Hermione wasted no time getting into position, and she felt like an enormous fat cow, on her hands and knees, her belly hanging down. At least it was unrestrictive, and she was able to take deeper breaths than she was able to in the other position.

 

"I'm going to enter you from behind," he said, and she felt the bed jostle under them as he moved himself into a different position. She felt his cock slip into position, and his belly rest heavily on top of her growing fat arse, and she felt full and wet.

 

"I like this," she said with a whimper, as he thrust into her, or at least tried to. Unfortunately, the position did not work altogether well for him, and he wasn't able to really stuff himself inside her.

 

"All right, I give up," he said with a huff, "I'm too fat to fuck you from behind."

 

"Really?" she asked, and then added, "That's pretty hot."

 

"I'll show you pretty hot," he said with a growl, and he wrestled her down onto the bed, and sat his wide arse on her pubic area, stroking himself and looking off into the distance.

 

The applied pressure was actually incredibly sexy, and Hermione nearly screamed with the feelings that populated her cervix.

 

"Okay," he said, moving too soon, "let's try something else. Tell me if you don't like something and we'll stop."

 

"Understood," she said with a whimper.

 

With that, he waved his hand, and Hermione found herself floating above the bed.

 

Snape got off the bed and stood next to it, and adjusted Hermione in the air until she was exactly perpendicular to his cock. Then he flipped her over in the air so her tummy was hanging down.

 

"There we go," he murmured as he slid inside her again from behind, this time unobstructed. "Just needed a different position."

 

"You're too fat to fuck me from behind without using magic," Hermione whimpered, "that's incredibly hot."  

 

"Just a position thing," he said testily, and his hips started moving in a way that made her almost forget how to say words.

 

"Oh fuck," she breathed, grabbing onto the nearest pillow until her knuckles were white. "I can't even. This is so great."

 

He was on a fast-track to finishing up, so she wasn't surprised when he came inside her and pulled out, panting and dripping wet.

 

"That was amazing," she breathed as he gently let her down from the position.

 

He nodded, and wiped his face, then lay his body over hers, his cock nesting near the top of her arsecrack, his chubby breasts creating warm wet spots on her back, and his belly squeezing against her with the heaviness of a boulder but the softness of a blanket.

 

"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, and kissed her neck, and nestled his face in her hair.

 

"Thanks," she whispered, "but on my too-full tummy, I can't be in this position."

 

"Oh," he whispered back, and rolled off swiftly. "Sorry about that. I like laying on my full belly sometimes."

 

"I just don't have enough of a belly to do that very comfortably yet," she replied, and she turned over so that her distended stomach faced the ceiling again. "But gods. You fill me up so well."

 

"So well that you won't fuck a thin man again?" he replied with a smirk.

 

Hermione blushed deep red. "Well, don't hold me to my words, particularly with recent developments moving along, but I want you to know that, without a doubt, you're the most satisfying fuck I've ever had."

 

"So glad to hear it," he said, sounding somewhat amused, and he moved his entire body close to her and laid a hand on her belly. "It was a mistake to have that potion, you know," he said, rubbing along the stretch marks on her belly. "You will scarcely be able to keep up with your hunger now."

 

She laughed. "You seem to have been able to."

 

"Yes," he said, rubbing his own belly with his other hand, "but I'm a full-time researcher. I never have to perform for students - I can eat whenever I want, provided it's not interrupting some crucial part of the brewing process. And as you know," he said with a smirk, "a good part of brewing is waiting. I admit I rarely let a potion simmer without stuffing something in my fat face, these days."

 

Hermione nodded. "I'll take that under consideration," she said. "What do you recommend I do to help with the situation?"

 

"Keep a stock in your drawer," he said, "you'll feel famished, but at least you can withdraw to get something in your tum when you can't bear it anymore."

 

He added, "At least that's what I'd do. Slughorn, as you know, rarely deigned to be so professional. Particularly in my days as a student, he would sit there eating an entire bulk-sized bag of chocolate frogs during class, and then get up just as excited as the rest of class about lunchtime."

 

Hermione laughed. "Speaking of food, where did those crisps go? I thought you brought in a bag."

 

"So I did," he replied amicably. He sat up, and grabbed them from where they were on the nightstand. "I find them somewhat laborious to eat, and they’re potatoes (which I despise), but I suppose you like them if you keep them in your kitchen."

 

"That I do," she said with a smile.

 

She opened them, and Snape passed a hand over the bag after she'd taken a handful - and suddenly they were gone.

 

"Where'd they go?" she asked, and she saw that he was laying a hand on his belly, rubbing it where it was slightly more distended.

 

"In my belly," he said with a smirk. "Simple thing to put them there. Basic transport spell. And moreover, the bigger your stomach, the easier it is to target it."

 

"Let me try," she said, and he raised a hand to stop her.

 

"Feel around for the boundaries of your organs, first," he said. "I'm well-practiced in it, but you don't want to accidentally put a bunch of crisps in your liver."

 

"All right," she conceded, and she let her fingers feel around her abdomen. She wasn't able to make much sense of it, but Snape grabbed her fingers and soon they were tracing the borders of her stomach, as well as she could feel it through the nice layer of fat that she'd been accumulating.

 

"Now," he said, "there it is. You want to try and feel it regularly, just in case it moves. Now, go ahead and try."

 

Hermione waved her wand over the chips, and suddenly felt the little bit of room in her tummy get immediately full.

 

"They just go in there whole," he said with a smirk, "so you want to wait a bit before your next attempt, so as to let them dissolve into mush."

 

"I prefer eating them directly, I think," she said with a grimace. "I don't like to have to wait."

 

He grinned. "Suit yourself, you fatty."

 

She grinned in response, and she stuffed her face with a full handful of crisps. "They're so good," she whimpered. "Feed me?"

 

"With pleasure," he responded. "I actually can't stand them, but I'll happily feed them to you."

 

"More for me," she murmured, leaning back.

 

He grabbed another handful and stuffed it in her mouth, but then his mouth wandered down to lick and suck at her clit as she chewed.

 

"Actually," she said, as he began to move his head, "I'll feed my own fucking face. You keep on doing what you're doing."

 

"Yes, my dear," he said with a crooked smile, and he continued to nip, lick, suck, taste, and otherwise enthrall her lower regions.

 

"Only thing is," he said after she felt her body come at least three times, "I wish eating you out had a caloric component to it. It certainly tastes sweet enough that it should. I'm afraid I expend more than I gain, however."

 

"Easily remedied," Hermione said after swallowing. "Did you eat all of the ice cream?"

 

She was interrupted by the sound of something in the closet that sounded like something falling. She looked at Snape, and he looked just as puzzled as she did.

 

"Yes," he said, "at least I believe so." He got up and opened the closet door.

 

Gingerly, he pushed back Hermione's clothes in either direction, but didn't reveal anything other than several items of clothing that had fallen on the floor from their hangars.

 

"Is this normal?" he asked, a sharpness in his eyes as he scanned the rest of the room.

 

"Oh, yeah," Hermione admitted. "I'm not the best steward of my clothing."

 

"That's fine," Snape said, then shook his head, picked up his wand, and cast a few new wards. "I'll see if there's anything else like ice cream in your ice box," he said, and went to the other room.

 

He came back with a raised eyebrow and a whole second bowl of ice cream.

 

"You have a magic icebox?" he asked, "because this wasn't there before."

 

Hermione sat up and shook her head. "Not that I know."

 

"Hmm," Snape said, and looked around the room again.

 

They sat in silence for several minutes, but finally it was clear that nothing was going to come of it, so Snape shrugged.

 

"Tell me what you intend to do with this," he said with a salacious smile.

 

"I'll show you," she said, and she felt the area around her cervix, and then passed her hand over the bowl of ice cream. Some of it disappeared.

 

"Oh shit," he said, and Hermione spread her legs.

 

His entire face was alight. "That's brilliant."

 

"Eat up, Severus," she said, "it's dripping already."

 

He didn't need to be told twice, and he dropped himself to lick and suck with the frenzy of a shark eating a fat, fat seal.

 

The cold ice cream was strangely delicious to feel in her vagina, and she'd never felt so perfectly full there.

 

"I'm going to have to make this a regular thing," she said with a whimper. "Serving ice cream out of my vag."

 

"No complaints here," he murmured, looking up at her, licking his lips. His entire face was slick with ice cream and vaginal juices. He looked utterly blissful. "This is really fucking great."

 

"Flavored by your own cum, I suppose," Hermione mused.

 

This was not something he'd considered, and he paused a moment, until saying, "Whatever. As close to autofellatio as I'll get these days."

 

They both found themselves laughing at that, until he noticed a bit of melting ice cream getting away, and he went back to his ardent licking.

 

 


	22. flying

After they grew tired of their sexual play, they fell into a dreamy napping state, where Hermione flitted in and out of sleep, and Snape lay there reading a book he had accio'ed from his chambers, one hand propping up his chin, the other resting against Hermione's tummy and holding his book. He was wearing thick-framed reading glasses, which made him look incredibly sharp, even nude as he was.

 

"I didn't know you wore glasses," she whispered groggily. "You should wear those more often."

 

He smiled disbelievingly and pecked her lingeringly on the lips. "What, is this something else you're secretly attracted to?"

 

"Not necessarily," she purred as his finger lingered under her chin. "Just looks good on you, that's all."

 

He grunted in reply, not otherwise responding, and turned from laying on his side to laying facing the ceiling, but scooted his voluptuous butt closer to her to make up the difference in distance.

 

It was a warm and comfortable place to be. Rain started to fall against the glass panes of the windows, accompanied by thunder and lightning.

 

Hermione shivered, as it got somewhat colder in the castle, and the castle was making its usual cracking noises as it adjusted to the change of air pressure that accompanied the storm. In response, Snape pulled the covers closer over her and moved closer to her, warming her with his nice fat body. The softness of his belly, heavy arms, and torso was inviting, and Hermione squeezed against him pleasurably.

 

She knew he would want to eventually leave, and though he was engrossed in his book, eventually Hermione's belly growled.

 

"You hungry?" he asked, and she nodded. "Gods." He sat up and drew the covers back from his legs, and as Hermione's stomach gurgled again, she saw his cock twitch despite itself.

 

He eased himself up and went into the other room, then came back with a loaf of bread, yogurt, hazelnut spread, and jam. He was grinning wolfishly, and his cock was nearly erect.

 

“Seeing you so full and fat turns me on so much,” he said. He crawled onto the bed, and Hermione, with her legs under the covers, spread her legs so he could get as close to her as possible to feed her. He clambered close to her and let his enormous arse seat itself right there. “Open wide, my sweetheart,” he said with delight, and spooned a nice heaping spoonful of yogurt and jam into her mouth. She swallowed and opened her mouth for more, to which he eagerly responded by giving her another spoonful, and another.

 

“Let me know when you’re no longer hungry,” he said with a glint in his eye, and Hermione knew he was challenging her.

 

She finished off the yogurt with no sign of stopping, and Snape grabbed the loaf of bread and slathered jam and nutella spread on it.  

 

"Here you are, my sweet," he said, easing a slice into her waiting mouth. "That's a good girl."

 

She chewed and swallowed, then gestured for more.

 

Several slices slipped down her throat, and finally she was replete, and she sat back on the bed.

 

"So," she said, letting her tongue wander around her lips, tidying up, "I'm going to have to kick you out. I've got some work to do."

 

"Understood," he said, and he leaned in and kissed her fiercely. He withdrew from her at the precise second she was about to renege on her request and demand he stay and kiss her more. He could tell he had just perfectly underplayed his hand, and he gave her a solemn second kiss for good measure.

 

"I'll be busy for the next few hours, I think," he said, casting a wandless wave at his clothes, which of their own accord flew onto him. "But if you'd like company later this evening, I might be of a mood."

 

Hermione smiled and sat back, watching him dress. He still had that grace of a martial artist, even as fat as he'd gotten, and the way he moved his hands even in these simple acts of dressing just delighted her.

 

"Later," she murmured, as he went over to the window to look out of it.

 

"Later," he said, and opened the window.

 

"What are you doing?" she asked as he got on the stool next to the window. He shrugged, and stepped out the window into the wet day.

 

She gasped, and leaped out of bed, not knowing what to expect, but he suddenly reappeared, thoroughly soaked from head to toe, with a rose in his hand.

 

It was a very pretty rose, but it didn't quite make up for the moment of panic that preceded it.

 

"You rascal," she said, and swatted at him. "How'd you do that?"

 

He didn't say anything, and stepped back into the room. "Sometime I'll teach you," he said as his only response, drying himself off with a spell from his wand.

 

Then, as she looked at him aghast, he scooped her back into his arms and kissed her fiercely one last time, then strode out of the room, shaking his long wet hair.

 

Hermione ran to the window, looked down, and saw that there was no possible way he could have done that if he hadn't...

 

"You can *fly!*" she cried, and raced after him. "You know how to fly?"

 

"Maybe," he said, teasing, "well, it's more like controlled falling for me, these days. But," he went on, with a sniff of contempt, "you said yourself, you have work to do."  

 

"Oh, fine," she said, with an immense pout. "I'll stay up late and time-turn until I get everything done."

 

"Why do that," he mused, "when you can just time-turn now, and get your work done in half the time with this incentive?"

 

"Fine!" she responded, throwing her hands in the air and rushing to her desk. "You could have chosen a better day for it, is all."

 

"I like this weather," he said, standing at the window. "It's dreary, but calming. So English."

 

He turned around and saw, to his evident surprise, that she was holding a stack of completely graded papers.

 

"I demand a lesson," she said with a fierce tone. "Now."

 

"That was quick, Granger," Snape said with a look of approval. "Now, come here."

 

She grabbed an umbrella from where it lay discarded under the coat-rack, and only once she was thus armed did she allow him to grab her in a tight embrace.

 

He picked her up slightly, testing her weight, and then he nodded with satisfaction.

 

"Hold onto me," he whispered into her ear, and he escorted them both onto the stool at the window, then he stepped onto the sill.

 

The gardens of Hogwarts lay below them. Hermione was glad she'd never had much in the way of vertigo, since this was incredibly high up off of the ground.

 

Her view was a truly spectacular one, especially when she was reminded of its beauty with the windows being open.

 

"Going now," he said with a rumbling voice, and he stepped off the ledge, holding her close against his soft belly.

 

The rain wasn't too heavy right then, just a fine mist of wetness, and they sank slowly, like a balloon losing air.

 

"This is beautiful," she said, "How did you learn to do this? This is... quite the Mary-Poppins feat."

 

"Never heard of her," he said with a shrug, "it's a trick that's not widely known, I'll grant you."

 

They landed on a stray rooftop to let their ears adjust to the change in air pressure.

 

"It's like swimming," Hermione observed, "except everything is water."

 

"I've heard it described that way before," Snape mused in response, though there was an edge of steel in his voice. Regrets were there, it sounded like.

 

Before she could ask what memories lay underneath that emotion, Snape's lips were on hers, and she was happy to feel them. The cold was numbing and was beginning to chill her fingers and nose, but Snape's warm folds had room for all of these pieces of her anatomy, somewhere. She let her fingers wend their way into his shirt, and they settled on his nice broad tummy, which seemed to radiate heat.

 

"Mmm," he said, shivering, but drawing her closer. "I like the fact that I can keep you warm."

 

Hermione kissed him in response, letting her nose warm itself in his soft neck fat.

 

As they stood there, admiring the view, she realized that she felt incredibly self-possessed in her relationship with him. There was nothing immature about their relationship. There were no guessing games. There were no petty squabbles. They had their imperfections, and they made them known to each other in good faith, sensitivity, and compassion. Well, mostly, at least.

 

"You know what," she said, holding him closer, "this is really good."

 

"Yes," he said, staring over her at the gloomy horizon, "I like to come up here sometimes. It's someplace that, despite the thousands of souls that Hogwarts has housed over the years, is relatively untouched by others. Very few people have shared this view with me."

 

Hermione nodded, taking in what he said.

 

"Who else?" she asked, since it seemed to be an invitation to ask.

 

He looked steadily elsewhere than her rosy face. "Dumbledore. Lucius. Lily."

 

Her hand wandered up and pointed his chin towards her, so she was looking into his eyes. "A short list," she said with a smile, and kissed him tenderly. "Thanks for showing me."

 

"It's less significant than you might think," he said with a slight scowl. "These are merely the few people I've spent an extended amount of time getting to know, with the exception of the Dark Lord."

 

"I see," Hermione said, and kissed him on the cheek anyway. She could read into it even if he disavowed the importance of the gesture. "So where'd you learn this trick, anyway? Some old book?"

 

He shook his head. "This isn't something you can learn from a book," he said, his breathing slowing. He eased himself down on the slick wood shingles of the roof and settled into a comfortable, relatively safe position. "It's a fundamentally practical skill."

 

Hermione was holding onto whatever she could for dear life, and was clearly not very comfortable, so he stood again, and grabbed her around the waist, and then they stepped off the rooftop, floating down to the ground.

 

They landed behind some ancient shrubbery, and Hermione saw that hiding behind it was a very old Muggle backyard playset. Some of the superficial accents were rusted, but the integrity of the structure was intact.

 

"What's this?" she asked, approaching it and touching it. "I think my parents got one of these for me when I was a little one."

 

Snape appeared a different kind of pleased than was usual for him. There was a kind of plain satisfaction, hidden behind a veil of stoicism.

 

"It's a bit older than that," he said, "I'm glad the anti-tarnishing spells have held up so long." He began to cast a few spells, and the swingset started to stand up a little straighter and cleaner.

 

He took a rueful look at the seat of the swing, but settled for leaning against one of the poles. "So, Hermione," he said, and gestured towards the swing.

 

Hermione laughed, looked at the tiny sliver of cracking plastic, and looked back at him.

 

"It'll hold you," he said, "but not me."

 

She nodded, and sat herself gingerly on the seat of the swing.

 

It was surprisingly resilient and strong, and her arse, while slightly too big for the child's toy, did manage to land in a comfortable way. Hermione then backed up and stood, contemplating letting go.

 

"Yes," he said, nodding, "do it."

 

"Is this supposed to teach me how to fly?" she asked, frowning.

 

He surprised her by nodding, a brooding entering his eyes.

 

She shrugged, and settled her arse more firmly into the seat, and lifted her legs.

 

It wasn't precisely like flying, but it was pretty close to it. And Hermione had just had a recent experience flying, so it wasn't just a paltry metaphor. There was the rushing of wind, the rush of lateral movement, and the feeling of near-weightlessness.

 

She relished it, and she began to swing higher.

 

"More," Snape said, though she could hardly hear him over the rush of wind in her ears. "Higher."

 

She nodded slightly, but felt her entire body wiggle. All of her motions were magnified. It took her a moment to rebalance.

 

"Now," he called, as she swung higher than before, "let go."

 

"Are you shitting me?" she called back, and refused to let go of the sturdy chains of the swing.

 

"Just do it," he replied as she approached the ground again, "Go."

 

She swung back and forth another time, but finally got the gumption to do it. "All right," she said with a whimper, even though he couldn't hear her, and she let go of the chains. She was propelled forward, and fell, fell, fell.

 

And she landed softly at Snape's feet.

 

She wondered initially if she'd been successful, since she hadn't broken her back, but he shook his head.

 

"Again," he said, and pointed to the swing.

 

"Seriously?" she said, "what am I supposed to do?"

 

"Just believe," he said simply.

 

"Believe what?" she demanded, cross. The rain was starting to come back, and she was feeling damp and icky.

 

"That you can," was all he said, and he stood back to watch her silently, his arms folded over his chest.

 

Of course this wasn’t helpful, so Hermione frowned, but tried again anyway.

 

And again, she flew off, and again, and again. But she didn’t manage to actually *fly.*

 

Snape shook his head disapprovingly. “This will not do,” he said finally, casting a wordless drying spell on her, and he looked at her with some amount of disappointment in his eyes.

 

He seemed to finally make a decision, and he gestured for her to get off.

 

She was entirely disappointed in herself as well. Why wasn’t she getting it? She got up and, sulkingly, stood to the side, waiting to be admonished.

 

But Snape didn’t admonish her - instead he surprised her by squeezing himself into the tiny seat and, with a deep breath, he managed to sit on it, though he seemed afraid to put his whole weight on it.

 

He cast a couple of strengthening and supportive spells on the seat now that he was on it, and then he closed his eyes and said, sternly, “It looks like I’m going to have to *show* you. But know that I’m only doing this *once,* Granger, so watch closely.”

 

He then stood back, and lifted his legs, and with a few effortful pumps, he was high in the air, and he said loudly, “Watch now,” and he let himself fly off the swing.

 

It was like watching a mermaid catapult from the bottom of the ocean higher into the clear blue water. Hermione had never watched anything like it. Snape’s legs wiggled a bit as he started off, but ultimately once he got in the swing of it, he glided through the air with relative effortlessness.

 

Then, with a dive, he landed back at her feet, though with a somewhat shaky landing.

 

“Now you,” he said, and pushed her towards the swing.

 

“But what did you *do?*” she exclaimed.

 

“You said it yourself,” he responded crisply, “it’s like swimming. Do the breast-stroke or something if that makes it any easier, once you’ve got momentum.”

 

“Thanks, that helps a lot,” she responded sarcastically, as she pumped her legs and elevated her height.

 

Once she was high enough, she closed her eyes and let go, and, for lack of anything else, started doing the breast-stroke.

 

“Granger!” she heard Snape’s voice far away. “Granger!”

 

She opened her eyes and discovered, to her great perplexity, that Snape was far below on the ground, and was running after her, his face red with the exertion, and his belly bouncing and rippling like a great deflated rubber ball with every step.

 

Soon enough he had enough momentum to follow her, and he leaped up, and was in the air with her.

 

Good timing, too, since Hermione was beginning to falter.

 

“Erm, how did I do this?” she whinged, and felt herself plummeting as doubt began to affect her.

 

“You can do it,” he called to her, and grabbed her hand, stopping her from falling as fast. “You’re doing very well. Just don’t let yourself convince yourself it’s not possible.”

 

“I can,” she replied with a huffing breath, “I can.” She breathed deeply, and felt herself rise again. “It’s so weird.”

 

“Congratulations, Miss Granger,” he said, wrapping her into his arms as he saw she was beginning to slip again, “you are officially more accomplished than nearly every other wizard on the face of the earth.”

 

“I don’t understand,” she said, “it was… really so simple.”

 

“Deceptively so,” he said, and kissed her tenderly. “Oh yes,” he said, wrapping his arms more tightly around her, “I knew you could do it.”

 

“It’s easier than apparating,” she said, “and even less unsettling.”

 

She broke away from his arms, and he grinned at her as she began to get more of a foothold of her new skill, testing her strength and agility with different strokes and methods.

 

“It really is like swimming,” she murmured, “you sink if you don’t tread.”

 

“That’s correct,” he said, “but unlike water, you have a very swift maneuverability.”

 

“It’s great,” Hermione said, and flipped herself in a loop, though regretted it as she felt her stomach lurch.

 

“Careful,” he said, and floated closer to her, and extended his hand. “Don’t want to be sick on some unsuspecting first-year.”

 

She looked down and realized that they had somehow gotten over near a more populated area of the garden. It being such a dreary day, almost no one was out, but a few students were sitting around on the grounds; one group had a small bonfire keeping them warm.

 

“Can’t they see us?” she asked, and looked at him inquiringly.

 

He shook his head. “Chameleon spell. They’ll think we’re bits of clouds, if they see us at all.”

 

“Another ingenious discovery of yours?” Hermione asked, since she decided it was clear that Snape must have uncovered this practical skill of flying on his own.

 

He shook his head. “That one’s my own creation,” he said. “Flying, however,” he went on, “is much, much older, and no, I did not rediscover it.”

 

Hermione knew there was much more of a story there, but Snape didn’t appear to be in the mood for questions. He seemed thoroughly tired, even if he probably wouldn’t admit it to her, so Hermione decided she would begin to float back in the direction of her bedroom.

 

“Come on,” she said, as he looked after her, “I’m quite knackered.”

 

“All right,” he said, and followed her wearily.

 

Something about their time out there had made him quiet, subdued, and Hermione didn’t know what it was. Once they were back in her room - made chilly by the windows being left open, but that was soon remedied by closing them and stoking the fire - she wrapped him in warm blankets and thrust a warm cuppa in his hands, along with biscuits when he looked at her with the hungry disbelief of a cat given only a saucer of milk, with no fish. (She knew that look well on Crookshanks.)

 

“I haven’t flown that long in a while,” he confessed once he had a bit in his stomach. “I forgot how ...sad… it makes me.”

 

Hermione curled around him. “It’s all right,” she said, “do you want to talk about it?”

 

He shook his wet hair. “Not particularly.”

 

“That’s fine,” she said, and kissed him gently on the lips. His lips weren’t precisely responsive, but he reciprocated just enough to show he was grateful, but not enough to demonstrate an interest in snogging.

 

“So,” she asked, as she snuggled into his warm torso, “can I ask where that swing came from?”

 

“You can ask,” he said, slowly, “but I think for the moment, I’m going to keep the details confidential. I’m… I’m not sure that I’m ready to reveal this story to you.”

 

“I see,” she said, and fondly stroked his cheek. “I can respect that.”

 

“You’d better,” he said grouchily, “and not ask me every day for the next month until I give in.”

 

She laughed and pulled herself under the covers. “I’m ready for sleep,” she began to say, but her stomach rumbled. “Dammit.”

 

She sat up in bed, and accio’ed food from the kitchen. She was surprised to see a nice large bowl of ice cream come from the freezer.

 

“It looks like someone’s taking care of you,” said Snape as he looked with the same surprise she had. “That definitely was not in the ice box before.”

 

“No,” Hermione agreed, “it was not.” She didn’t tell him that, indeed, she’d already finished an additional bowl of ice cream that day when she was working on grading papers.

 

But she wasn’t about to look a gift-horse in the mouth, so she set about eating every bite of that delicious bowl, with only a few bites finding their way into Snape’s mouth.

 

He was, it seemed, properly knackered, and was snoring before she’d even finished her dessert.

 

Her stomach stopped its rumbling, fortunately, once she had swallowed every last bite of the ice cream, but Hermione realized that this insatiable hunger was not going to go away anytime soon.

  
So she cuddled up against Snape, feeling the warmth of her great expanded belly nestle into the pit of his broad dimpled back, and she fell asleep, her arm draped over him fondly. 


	23. neville sandwich, photo of marielle

Monday came, it did, and Hermione was invigorated for the week. She and Snape had breakfast together, accompanied with some kisses and nuzzling, and indeed they did give each other the pleasure of wanking in the shower, but soon enough she was off doing other things, and so was he.

Moreover, she'd spent enough time with Snape over the weekend that she felt like she'd been paid-attention-to, and she'd spent enough time doing carnal things that she was ready for some time being productive and introverted.

This she accomplished with aplomb, but I fear it's not much good for a story to write about the mundane features of her life. Suffice it to say, she was productive, did a lot of teaching, ate a great deal of food, and had a great deal of very heady sex with Snape in the evenings, when they both were free to spend time together.

What is notable is that she thought about Neville, but did not reach out to him most of the week, until finally her conscience couldn't bear it, and she knew she had to approach him.

He, unlike Certain Other professors she knew, was there in the Great Hall daily for every meal - it seems he never broke out of the habit cultivated from being a student, when eating was inherently more interesting than studying for everyone except Hermione and a couple of Ravenclaws.

So it was relatively simple for her to coordinate an encounter with him. After a particularly light period, where fortunately her students' practical efforts had been unusually rewarding, she was in a great mood, and she had the desire to gush. So she went to the Great Hall for her semi-dinner, and she saw Neville there, nervously trying to eat a sandwich that seemed as desperate to get out of his hands as he was to drop it.

"Not hungry?" she asked, as he half-heartedly scrambled after the slick ham and basil that fell into his plate.

He shrugged and threw down the remaining bread from his hand. "About the sum of it." He didn't look in her eyes.

"So," she asked, leaning towards him, though she was impressed by the fact that her tummy was big enough that it made leaning forward somewhat cumbersome. It squished into rolls. She was definitely entering the realm of being fat. "How are you?"

He seemed bewildered by her. "What are you doing?"

She raised an eyebrow. "What do you *think* I'm doing? I'm trying to flirt with you."

"It's working," he said narrowly, turning his eyes back to his sandwich. Then, with a deep breath, he added, "But it's not going to happen, 'Mione. Forget what I said that night."

"I can't," she said, turning her chair to face him better. "Now, what is it that made you change your mind?"

He shook his head, and finally, after a few moments of silence, managed to say, "You're dating *Snape.* There's not a wizard on earth that would touch you, not when you're under his *protection.*"

"What?" Hermione exclaimed, taken aback, "Has he said anything to you?"

"He doesn't have to," Neville responded, coldly. He stared at her, daring her to ask why.

"What," Hermione asked, moving in to a drilled-down glare. "Is it just that he's so intimidating you don't dare share the same piece of meat he fucks?"

Neville opened his mouth to reply the affirmative, but clearly thought better of it and closed his mouth again.

Hermione shook her head. "Seriously?" She sighed. "If you can get over the idea of me being Snape's property, then, Neville, maybe we can do something. As it is, though," she went on, standing up, "I'm perfectly content dropping the matter. I just hate to think that you'd stoop so low as to deny yourself the companionship you're desperate for just because of antiquated values pertaining to women and their bodies."

She looked to see if he had a response, and he didn't seem to, so she got up. "Whatever," she mumbled under her breath, "you boys are all wankers, every single one of you."

…

She was more disappointed than she allowed herself to feel, at least initially. But Severus was waiting for her that evening in his irresistable brocade waistcoat, which had clearly been a chore to put on, and she melted at the sight of him.

"Oh, gods," she breathed with a sigh as she saw him, "you look ravishing, but give me a moment."

He gingerly got up and followed her to the bedroom, where she collapsed in bed, facefirst. He joined her there, laying down next to her, facing the ceiling.

"What's wrong?" he asked, after moments of silence. His words were labored, but just slightly - as if he were trying to keep himself from sounding eager to help.

"Neville," she groaned. "I finally had a moment to connect with him today, and he won't even consider touching me. Thinks of me as *your* property."

"I can't say I'm not pleased, to an extent," Snape breathed, touching her shoulder and rubbing it. "But I'm sorry you had that disappointment."

"I mean," Hermione went on, "I wasn't particularly anxious about it, which makes it worse, I suppose - I felt like I had the upper hand of this relationship, like I was the one being sought-after, and I didn't think I'd have to work to get it started. I thought it'd ignite quickly when I chose to start it, like kindling, you know?"

"I hear you," he responded sullenly, "though that's never, ever, been my own experience. Particularly the way I look now."

"Shush," Hermione said, rolling over and looking at him with mocking disapproval. "I'll not have you say unkind things about my new favorite person."

Snape's cell-phone buzzed at that moment, in his trouser-pocket, and he opened it quickly to see what the message was, then quickly closed it again.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

Severus shook his head. "Nothing important."

Hermione squinted at him and said, "Come now. Tell me. Anything to distract me from these feelings of having been let down."

"All right," Snape said with a half-grin, "here."

He showed Hermione a very blurry photo of a broad-shouldered trans woman and a plump, soft black girl. The girl was wearing a skintight bodysuit, bearing a whip, and the trans woman was bound in a thousand knots to a chair, backwards. The trans woman had a look in her eyes of pleading, begging, while the dominating girl grinned provocatively. The photo was clearly of a boudoir nature.

"That's Erika," he said, and Hermione looked at him.

"I presume the… younger one?" she asked, not sure how to proceed in this kind of situation.

He nearly giggled, since he'd clearly been conscious of the awkwardness of it.

"She's the black one," he said, with a bit of a snigger, "the other is Marielle, one of her other major partners. Granted, Marielle did just move to DC, so there's that difficulty."

Hermione was someone who did have a minor interest in the occasional woman, though honestly she'd always tended to date men, but she looked at Erika and admired her delightful, full lips, her full and sensuous curves (accentuated in her present attire) and sparkle of excitement in her eyes.

Her attention was more drawn to Marielle, however, despite herself - she really wanted to read Marielle as a woman, entirely, but Marielle had many features of manliness that shone through, like her torso's build and heavy jaw.

Of the two of them, Hermione noted, Marielle was also much fatter, with a sumptuous belly forming around her middle, a bona-fide spare-tire.

"I like them both," Hermione said, "though I admit I'm a little more partial to Marielle."

"Hm," Snape said, looking at the photograph again. "Really?"

"Yeah," Hermione said, one hand wandering down his torso, "really."

"Noted," he said, and kissed her gently, a prelude to ones of more intensity later. "So," he added, "Why?"

"Do I need a good reason?" she asked, patting his enormous belly thoughtfully. It gurgled involuntarily as she touched it.

"My dear," he confessed, "Can't we continue this over dinner?"

"Of course," she responded happily, and rose from the bed and followed him to the dining room.

….

*Hi readers~! Sorry this chapter is so short. Next one will be sexii?

So there's a not-very-major inconsistency that's been bothering me… I'll eventually go back and fix it but not today… in the 2nd or 3rd chapter, Snape says something like 'yo that's why we gotta get an honors program' and then in the mid teens I have a major conversation where Hermione's like 'yo so honors programs this is what they are.'

I guess it's not the biggest inconsistency but it's something that bothers me every time I re-read, so I wanted to apologize profusely for this error. Since obviously the point of this fic is the *plot,* lol. I think it's clear I care a lot about HOGWARTS HAVING AN HONORS PROGRAM so much that I forgot which character cared about this idea too.

Okay thanks bunches carry on :) Also please review because it makes rainbows fly out of the seat of my pants. And gets me more excited about writing the next chapter. :) obvs some of you have been really awesome about it like ARYNWY and Smithback and Reaping-Vampire and LoveIntheBattlefield but I'm hoping others of you comment more! Particularly tell me what you like because that really makes me happy :)

ALSO OMG OMG OMG OMG SOMEONE ('Fattington' on DeviantArt) MADE ME FANART.

copy/paste this into your address bar and delete the spaces

h t t p : / / tinyurl . com / fattingtonDA

and then you will see the hills are alive with the sight of fat snape :) holy cow I'm so happy you have no idea.

….


	24. work on grant, sexytimes

 

Hermione and Severus were soon sitting at a table laden with a sumptuous dinner that threatened to engulf the table.

 

Snape wasted no time in serving Hermione a heaping bowl of pasta, laced with fine cheese, bits of lobster, pepper, and paprika, and she delighted in slurping up noodle after noodle. They were starchy and thick linguini, and they stuck on her fork as lovingly as they’d stick on her middle once digested.

 

He gave a small smirk of satisfaction as her tongue made love to her fork. It was only after deciding that she indeed liked her food that he began to look over the offerings, and selected a large veal, ham, and egg pie.

 

“Oh yes,” Hermione observed with a rush of lust as he tucked into it, and a smile came to his face as he stuffed a forkful into his mouth and swallowed it in just a few hasty chews. “You’re quite hungry, aren’t you.”

  
“Yes,” he admitted, and stuffed another bite in his mouth without further deliberation.

 

She put another bite of chewy pasta in her mouth, and he nodded approvingly, watching as he chewed.

 

They ate in contented silence until the edge of hunger no longer plagued them, and Snape had eaten nearly half the pie, and Hermione had sucked down the entire bowl of noodles.

 

“You’re so nice and full-looking,” Snape said shyly, taking a sip of his wine. “It suits you very well.”

 

“Same to you,” Hermione said with a smile, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “You just can’t keep your appetite in check, can you?”

 

“No,” he returned, with a rueful smile. Then he commenced to start on a full plate of fish and chips, with tartar sauce and vinegar, and boiled peas on the side. “Can you blame me, though?”

 

“Not at all,” Hermione responded, and was already halfway through a slice of a large pizza. She swallowed a bit with onion, olive, and basil, and pushed it in Snape’s direction. “You might not give this back to me, but you should try this.”

 

“Mmm,” he responded, a wicked smile blooming on his face, but he didn’t stop chewing his food. With his free hand, he took two slices and gave back the rest.

 

“So, how was your day?” Hermione went on.

He shook his head, swallowed, and poised his fork to take another stab at the pie. “No news fit to print,” he said, “I admit I’m getting fatigued with trying to keep up with all the requirements necessary to continue my work. But at least I’ve made some major strides.” He took a bite, and went on, “Today I finished the grant request to the Veritas Foundation, which, I’m sure you know I’ve been losing a bit of sleep over. It’s not every day that one sends a proposal to the pre-eminent provider of non-governmental subsidies in Europe. So I’m glad to be done with that. Grant-writing is tedious,” he grumbled, and stuffed his mouth again.

 

“I hear you,” she responded, and relaxed a little bit more into her chair, adjusting the band of her skirt, which was beginning to dig into her belly. She then began to feel curious about the status of their potions conference plans, which they’d expounded upon some time ago, and Snape said he would begin to make the preparations. “What about the application to Potions-Masters Invested in Thought?” she asked. “I don’t mean to pressure you, if you’re too busy, but have you started on that?”

 

“I did,” he said with a smirk, “Last week, right after we talked about it. And I finished it yesterday. I thought I told you?”

 

“Oh, I’m silly,” she replied, “You did tell me. I just lost it in the mess of my brain. I know we’ve been talking it to death, but can I read it?”

 

He nodded, and accio’ed his laptop from the table. “I haven’t sent it, of course,” he said with a smile, “Given it’s more of a… collaborative effort.”

 

She playfully patted his tummy - “Not our only ‘collaborative effort’,” she said teasingly - and slid the laptop towards her. With a few clicks, she was down the page, processing the information at top speed. Though when she tried to make an edit, a large pastry crumb was stuck in between the S key and the face of the keyboard. She flicked at it, and it flew across the room.

 

“You duck,” she said with a giggle, “you tend to snack when you’re working on something, don’t you?”

 

“Guilty,” he murmured, and he moved his chair so he could see where she was in the document. He leaned forward and, hesitantly, wrapped an arm around her and put his head on her shoulder. “Many of my current pounds are a result of it.”

 

“I like it that way,” Hermione murmured with half of her attention, placing a hand on his vast belly as it pressed against her, and continuing to read.

 

She made a few changes. “So wait, so what’s this you’re saying here? Are you saying that this entire potential section would be interdisciplinary? Or that just this particular subsection would be interdisciplinary?”

 

“The entire section, of course,” he replied with the mildest of annoyance. “That’s why I wrote ‘The three components of this would be…’”

 

“It’s just the referent isn’t that clear,” Hermione said, “so I’ll just restate ‘the section.’”

 

“Fine,” he responded, and she continued to read. He sat up again, grabbed the pie plate and his fork, and ate while holding it, his eyes never leaving the screen.

 

“Change that word,” he said as she was reading, “from singular to plural.”

 

“All right,” she said, and changed it.

 

They fell into a comfortable editing posture, Snape re-reading for surely the umpteenth time, and Hermione reading with fresh eyes. She realized how lovely this experience was as she listened to his breathing, and felt it against her neck, and she felt in that moment how happy she was to not be with Ron anymore.

 

Ron would never sit there with her, reviewing alongside her - he never put much pride in his written work, whereas Snape clearly did, even if he denied it. Ron would never help her put together a conference to advance wizarding knowledge. Ron’s work had never been interesting enough to talk about with her regularly. Ron would never enjoy being comfortable and fat with her, basking in the warm feeling of being nice and full, and occupied by a mental project.

 

Snape gave her a sip of wine once in a while, sharing from his glass. The sweet dark merlot was warming and luscious, and it tasted exactly like she felt when Snape wrapped his arm around her and stroked her loose hair tenderly with his fingers.

 

Soon Hermione finished, and after a few other changes, she breathed, “You know, I think this is quite good. Now,” she added, “is this the first time you’re applying for funding from P-MIT, or its parent organization, AcademiVest?”

 

“Yes,” Snape said, his voice low and comfortable, “Have you done it before?”

 

“I submitted a proposal a few years ago,” Hermione said, “for the public advocate’s office, they were trying to conduct a study on quality of life, and we had to submit a proposal to AcidemiVest for funding to pay for the survey team.  I think the witch in charge there then is still here; her name is Malaenie Creight. She and I corresponded quite a bit. I know she’s a real stickler about formatting. I’m guessing you didn’t look at the guidelines too closely.”

 

“I assumed it wasn’t that important,” Snape said with a grimace, withdrawing his arm from around her shoulders and sitting back in his chair, cracking his neck. “Apparently, I was wrong.”

 

“Yes, with Malaenie, she has been reviewing these applications for nearly fifty years, and she’s a bit trigger-happy with her rejections. If you don’t mind, I know exactly what to fix.”

 

“Be my guest,” Snape said, picking up and munching on the final bit of pie. “I’m not displeased to let you finish this.”

 

“You did most of the grunt work, though,” Hermione said, and kissed his cheek. “It’s really flawless, aside from this.”

 

“...thank you,” he said, though the words seemed to be hard for him to say.  His mouth curled into a half-smile, and he kissed her on the cheek as well.

 

“When you’re done,” he said, “I expect to entertain you in a different fashion.”

 

“Please do,” she said, “but let me finish.”

 

He put down his empty plate and drew his arm around her again, this time settling around her middle and grabbing at her nice fleshy love-handle.

 

His fingers worked their way a little further down, down, and down again until she firmly grabbed his hand and set it back where it had started. He obeyed her implicit command until she finished, and then he grabbed her again with a growl of hunger and lust, and he put his hand under her rump and moved her onto his lap.

 

“Mm,” he said as she settled there, and she started unbuttoning her bodice, “you’re getting a bit big, my dear. Soon I won’t be able to keep you here, your delightful arse will simply be…”

 

He cupped it, and petted it, “...too large.”

 

“Won’t be *entirely* my fault,” Hermione said with a snicker, “your lap is getting smaller every day.”

 

“True,” he responded, and sighed as Hermione put both her hands on top of his belly, nearly purring as she rubbed it.

 

Then, without further ado, she slipped off his lap - despite being so fat, his knees were quite knobby - and sliced up a cake that sat, freshly iced upon the table.

 

“Sit back,” she instructed, and he obeyed, stretching his spine by inching his arse forward in the chair and readjusting the lumbar pillow. “Now eat,” she commanded, an enormous spoonful of cake in front of his face.

 

He did not delay, and his wide mouth embraced the cake, which was a nice heavy carrot cake with generous icing. “Oh,” he murmured, as Hermione’s hand massaged his gut. “It’s glorious. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to finish it. I ate a little too much today already.”

 

“A little too much?” Hermione purred, rubbing his belly all over, landing finally at the base of his gut, where the waistcoat threatened to break at any moment. “I don’t think you got as big as you are today by eating ‘a little too much,’ Severus.”

 

“What do you mean?” he asked, playing.

 

Hermione responded initially by stuffing his mouth again, and as she withdrew the spoon, she smirked. “I think you simply can’t endure a single moment where you aren’t stuffed to the brim,” she said, rubbing his upper gut again as he chewed and groaned quietly. “Isn’t that right? You’re addicted to food, and you can’t keep yourself from eating something nearly every moment. That feeling of being stuffed… that’s what keeps you feeling *alive.*”

 

“Yes,” he murmured, and he barely had time to get the word out before Hermione forced another bite into his mouth.

 

“You admit it, then,” she whispered, and leaned in to lick some frosting off of his lips as he chewed. “You’re unable to help yourself. You can’t stop eating.”

 

He nodded in response, his eyes wide and pleading.

 

“Well, with me around,” Hermione went on, feeling very Slytherin indeed, “you won’t have to stop. I’ll keep feeding you every moment of every day, so you never have to mourn the lack of food in your mouth. In fact,” she went on, going darker, “you’ll have no choice in the matter. Once you’ve started, there’s no turning back. You won’t be able to have a second of waking time without another bite of food in your mouth. Your stomach will rebel,” she went on, “but it will stretch to accommodate that massive amount of food.”

 

She was rubbing him fiercely, and then she realized that what she *really* wanted to be rubbing was her clit, so she raised her skirt, propped up her leg on her chair, and did just that - rubbing her clit and rubbing his belly with the same frenzied movements.

 

Snape swallowed just then, and opened his mouth again, so Hermione had to set up a magic spell to transport the spoon to Snape’s mouth. She just didn’t have enough hands!

 

“And oh,” she went on, feeling an orgasm washing over her, “oh, how fat you will get. Your podgy belly will seem so tiny in comparison to what you will achieve. Your cheeks will fill out more and more,” she breathed, and sucked in a little scream of pleasure that came involuntarily from her lungs, “and your belly will be so large and distended, it will droop to the floor. Your arse will be so vast and wide,” she went on, “that it will be nearly as big as a table. And your thighs will be so thick and juicy, you will scarcely be able to walk. Your breasts will be heavy and thick, and delicious to suck on. You will be so big,” she continued, “your cock will be lost in it, and only the most dedicated adventurer can help you get an orgasm, since you’ll be too fat to reach your poor little cock yourself.”

 

Snape raised his hand to stop being fed, and Hermione paused the spell with a wave, and he urgently stood up and pulled his trousers down. Hermione grabbed his cock and began pulsing it.

 

“Yes,” she breathed, “let’s practice, shall we? You’re too fat to give yourelf an orgasm, Severus,” she breathed, and she leaned forward and sucked on his cock for a few long moments, as Snape shuddered with pleasure.

 

“You’re entirely reliant on me,” she went on, licking her lips and resurfacing, “to bring you pleasure. Oh yes,” she breathed, and went back down on his cock, as she continued to awkwardly rub her own clit. “Only I can make you feel good.”

 

He moaned, and his cock pulsed, and unloaded itself in her hand, and partially on the floor, and he came in several painfully-pleasurable squirts, then lay back in the chair, panting, with one hand on his massive belly.

 

She wasn’t done yet, though, so she magically cleared some room on the table with a sweep of her hand, and she lay down upon it, and it groaned a bit under her.

 

“Someone could drown in the thick rolls of your fat, Severus,” she continued, rubbing herself furiously. He took a few more deep breaths, then sat up and leaned forward to suck her.  “But it would be the most pleasurable kind of death,” she added, orgasming the moment his lips made contact with her clit. Her juices were dripping down her plumpening thighs. “Because your body would be the softest, fattest, most decadent thing to ever grace the face of this good earth. As swollen as an apple left on the ground, expanding with endless, endless… bigness. The fattest man alive,” she breathed, “and you’re all mine.”

 

Her body twisted with another orgasm, and another, and another, until finally she lay there, panting, feeling tremendously good.

 

“I don’t know… how you do it,” Snape said, taking deep breaths and sitting back in his chair, clearly as stuffed as he could be. “Change of plans. No more work for me tonight.”

 

“You look quite done in,” Hermione responded with a grin, and she eased herself off of the table. “Let’s get ourselves to bed, shall we?”

 

“Quite,” he responded, and with her help, he eased himself up out of his chair, leaving a beautiful arse-sized imprint in the cushion.

 

“Come,” Hermione said, offering her arm, and they strolled to the bedroom.

 

When Snape sat down to take off his shoes, the waistcoat decided enough was enough, and it lost several buttons, in one frantic attempt to launch them to the moon.

 

“Well then,” Hermione said, with a giddy giggle, “that’s almost enough to make me come again.”

 

“I’m getting fat,” Snape said, a dopamine-influenced, bubbly smile coming to his face. It was a rare sight for him to be so unequivocally delighted. “Look at that.”

 

She bent down laboriously to collect the buttons, and put them in a box near her bed. “That waistcoat seems to have lost its waist,” she said, and broke down into giggles herself.

 

Snape chuckled and undid the upper few buttons that still strained against his massive belly. “Oh, much better,” he breathed, and he lay back, whereupon he began to undo his straining shirt-buttons as well.

 

“You can still talk,” Hermione said with a wink, “so now we’re in bed, let’s see if we can top off your tank with just a little bit more.”

 

“All right,” he mumbled, and pulled off his shirt wearily. “It won’t be much.”

 

Hermione accio’ed something sweet from the kitchen, and found to her delight that the magic bowl of ice cream was filled and waiting.

 

“Here we go,” she said, and she fed him bite by bite as he leaned against the headboard, his chin raised and both hands rubbing his distended, overfull tummy.

 

“Heavenly,” he murmured, swallowing. “So. Yes.”

 

Of course, he himself underestimated how much he could pack in his belly, and they managed to get nearly the entire bowl inside him before he put a hand over his mouth and shook his head woozily.

 

“All right,” Hermione said, and finished off the rest, which was enough to make her feel nearly as stuffed as him.

 

“I wonder how that bowl came to be,” she murmured, and he gingerly shrugged, and swallowed to keep his food down. “It’s a mystery, really.”

 

He nodded incrementally, and she kissed him on the cheek. “Let me help you readjust and lay down.”

 

He accepted her help, and soon he was on his side, in such a position where she lay beside him, wrapped her arm around him, and massaged his upper belly.

 

“You did a very good job,” she whispered in his ear, “you ate almost everything. You’re going to keep growing, and growing fast.”

 

He just sighed in reply and she looked to see that he had closed his eyes, and was probably drifting off.

 

“Good night,” she murmured, and snuffed out the lights with a wave of her hand.

 

As she drifted off to sleep, she thought she heard a tiny sigh of anguish come from the clothes-closet, but she might have just dreamed it.

  
  
  
  


……………...

 

Thanks to all the reviewers who are reviewing and are great. Your face is great. You’re great. So great. Greatness. Great. Great. Great. Much love!

 

Note: To the anonymous reviewer who was put off by Hermione’s bisexual tendencies revealed last chapter sort-of randomly: thanks for your comment. I’m sorry you might not read this. The thing is, this writing isn’t a perfect work of art. It’s never been intended to be. I don’t edit in any sense of the word. I plough through, with a word goal of about 2000 words, and post what is effectively my first draft of every chapter. Some authors on fanfiction deliberate a little more, and take more pride in their work. I don’t. I have my reasons. So if things are a little uneven here and there, then that’s why. I think you’re giving me more credit than I deserve - I definitely don’t do the ‘what kink/theme shall I add today’ bit. I have a couple of plot questions I try to answer every chapter - e.g. ‘what’s happening with Neville?’ and ‘how’s Snape’s relationship with Erika?’ - and everything else arrives organically.     

 

 


	25. vulnerability, fat elf

She woke up to the sound of him belaboredly putting on his clothes, grunting in dismay as he struggled to get his trousers buttoned. 

“Hey,” said in a soft whisper, and reached out to grasp his hand. He sighed deeply and extended it to her, half-heartedly. 

She took it warmly, sat up, and wrapped herself around him. He smelled deliciously unshowered, and her lips found their way to the sensitive place under his earlobe and kissed him sweetly. 

“Morning,” she said, turning his head to look at her, and she pressed her lips into his. 

He reciprocated, but only minimally, and then he began to try at his trousers again. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, moving back slightly and putting her hand on his shoulder. “Can I be helpful?”

“Not really,” he said, his voice low and dark. “It’s just the usual sort of thing.” He shook his head and, with a grimace, accio’ed a bottle of pills. Not looking at her, he opened the bottle and put two pills in his mouth, and swallowed them dry. 

Hermione saw his tense shoulders immediately relax, though the gloom did not move from him. 

“I’m going to feel like crap all day,” he said, standing up and struggling with his shirt, having given up on his trousers. 

“You forgot your medicine last night?” Hermione said, letting her hand settle on his ample waist. “I didn’t know you take it at night. I’ve never seen you take it at all, actually.” 

He turned his head and glared at the closet. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

“So you hide it?” Hermione asked, letting her hand fall into her lap. 

He didn’t answer, but hurriedly put the bottle in his pocket. 

“It’s okay,” she said with a gentle murmur, “I don’t know what you’re afraid of, but don’t be. Please.” 

He tugged at his shirt one final time and turned around. His face was sullen. “I’m afraid of your pity,” he said after a moment of careful, calculated hesitation. “If we’re going to do this, Granger, you’ve got to respect me, and never pity me. I’m not a creature that you need to protect from himself.”

She listened, and realized he was right to be afraid. She *did* have somewhat protective feelings for him, and she realized that they really came from a very convoluted place. Was there pity in there? She supposed so. But it was more than that.

“I don’t think that’s my problem, exactly,” she said thoughtfully, “though I can understand why you wouldn’t want that.”

He did not respond, instead gazing at her suspiciously, so she went on, “I do respect you, I truly do. It does make me sad when I see you so adamant about your pride that you can’t be vulnerable.”

“I don’t think that’s accurate,” he said with a grimace, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. “I’m plenty vulnerable with you. More than I should be.” 

She reached out for his hand, and he turned his head away, but took her hand in his. 

“Maybe,” she said, “I suppose if you feel that way, then that’s how you feel. But here’s what I’m seeing.” She took a breath - this was getting into risky territory, but she felt like they had enough of a relationship between them now that he could handle it. 

“I’m seeing that you go back and forth with me,” she said, and he remained stony-faced, staring at the wall to his left. “One moment you’re very vulnerable with me, and so… so open. Then you seem to regret it, and close up again. I don’t blame you,” she went on, “but that’s what I’m seeing.” 

He stirred, and took a deep breath, but did not respond for a long time. “That coincides with my experience,” he said at last. 

She smiled at him, even though he wasn’t making eye contact with her. “Well, it’s not a bad thing,” she said, “though it is a bit confusing at times. I struggle because I feel like those times that you’re more closed are my fault, somehow.” 

“Sometimes they are,” he responded coldly. He continued to stare in the opposite direction. 

“And how is that?” Hermione said, feeling her throat get tighter. 

He shook his head, struggling to answer, until he finally said, “You listen to me. And you ask me damned difficult questions. And you make me…” He swallowed harshly. “...sometimes you make me forget the things that have happened to me. At least for a while. I forget how fucked up I am, and how I fucked up *everything.* And I enjoy my life, and my obscene sexual interests, and the fact that I’m not worthy of anyone fucking at all. Much less anything else.”

“Anything else, meaning what?” Hermione asked, though she could tell where he was going with this, and it made her insides crawl with anticipation. 

He turned his head and searched her face. His eyes were fierce and bright and shiny, and his upper lip twitched. 

“What do you think I mean?” he responded lowly, his face hard and impassive. 

“I’m not quite sure I know,” Hermione replied, and tried not to let him know she was playing with him. 

He could tell though, and rolled his eyes. “Do I *have* to spell it out for you?”

“I’m afraid so,” she replied, feeling thrilled at the high level of emotion in this conversation. He was having such trouble. It was such a glorious feeling, watching him try to do something so profoundly difficult for him. He was getting there, if slowly. 

He opened his mouth as if to curse at her, but decided better and reformed his lips into a pressed line. 

Then he tried again. “I’m not worthy of anyone fucking. Much less,” he said, and stared penetratingly at her, as if she were a dungbomb about to explode, “loving.” 

“So wait,” Hermione said, leaning forward and putting a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off with a jittering shake. “What are you saying exactly?”

He looked as if he wished something would interrupt them. Anything. 

And as it happened, something did. There was a clatter as the antique bedside table’s legs broke, and all of Hermione’s papers and such fell on the floor in an avalanche of parchment, along with dishes from last night’s binge. 

“Shit,” Hermione said, and reflexively grabbed her wand and caught the clattering mess in the nick of time. With an effortless spell, she sent the mess to the bureau, where it settled with a gentle rustle. “Was that you?” she asked. 

“...Yes, sorry,” he said carelessly, appearing distracted. He got up and, tiptoeing in his stocking-feet, he moved towards the closet. 

“What are you-” Hermione began, but Snape put a finger to his lips, telling her to be quiet. He was remarkably silent on his feet, despite his enormous size. 

Then, with a flash, he threw a spell, and the closet door banged open. Hermione saw the sight of Lowly looking terrified for just a moment before the elf blinked out of sight. In her haste, she had forgotten someone.

Hermione had never seen a fat house-elf, and at the sight of one, she had no idea how to react. The elf that sat in her closet was truly enormous. She could not tell if it was male or female, but the creature smiled brightly up at Snape, though looked somewhat dismayed by Snape’s curdling expression. 

“Hi,” squeaked the elf, “Master Severus?” 

“What are you doing in here?” asked Snape, and Hermione could actually hear Snape’s voice had a trace of fear in it. 

The elf smiled broadly. “Watching you!” 

Hermione bounced over to the closet and got on her knees. Snape seemed content to stand and glare at the creature. 

“Well, hello there,” Hermione said kindly, extending her hand. 

She noticed that the elf was wearing a hat - a sloppy, handmade, wool hat. It sat awkwardly, too large on the elf’s head. 

“Miss ‘Mione!” chirped the elf sadly. It pushed the brim of the hat up its forehead, only for it to come slipping back down into its eyes again. The elf tried to smile as it pushed the hat up again. “You, who made me a free elf!” 

“I beg your pardon,” Hermione said, though as she squinted, she could recognize the hat that the elf wore. It was - uncannily enough - her own knitting work. She remembered working on this particular item - she’d been experimenting with her stitches. 

“You freed me,” said the elf, no less sad. “My name is Fancy, if you please?”

“Hello, Fancy,” Hermione said, and waves of sadness began to overcome her as she remembered making hats and mittens and such for the elves - and none had been taken. 

Apparently she had miscounted, because here was one that had somehow gotten to a new owner, as intended. 

“Are you glad to be free?” Hermione asked, and Snape rolled his eyes and went to lay down on the bed. She heard him grab some papers, and she glanced over to see he was re-reading some grant materials that he had printed. So stubborn, he was. 

“Of… of course?” answered the elf, though it sounded uncertain. “I am pleased with my lot in life.” 

“I’m glad,” Hermione said, but was interrupted by the elf, who went on (in as deferential way as possible). 

“I was a little *more* pleased with my life before I was free, though.”

“I see,” Hermione said, and felt a confused pang of regret. She wasn’t sure if she should have done more to free the elves or listened to those around her who told her she was wrong to care. “And you have been free for many years now?”

“Many!” exclaimed the elf a little more brightly. “But I’m so sorry,” the elf said, “to disturb you during your talk. Fancy thought she was quiet. Please carry on as you were, Lowly will be back to get me, soon.”

“What,” Snape asked dryly from the bed, apparently not able to tune out the conversation as well as he’d hoped, “you can’t leave on your own?”

“No,” answered the elf, and began to sniffle. “Fancy cannot.”

“Why is that?” Hermione asked, kindly as she could manage. She was afraid of the answer. 

“They changed the wards once Dobby was gone, Miss Hermione,” said Fancy. “Free elves no longer can go around the castle on their own. They only let Dobby do it for Master Potter, because he is a Very Important Person.”

“Are there many free elves?” Hermione asked, gently extending her hand to offer it to Fancy. 

Fancy responded warmly, by grabbing Hermione’s hand. “Not so many,” she said, “just Fancy, I think. Though I do not know.”

“I’m so sorry,” Hermione said, realizing that Fancy seemed to be lonely. “You don’t know of anyone else?”

“No,” Fancy said, and sighed. “She doesn’t either. It’s all right, though,” she - at least Hermione thought Fancy might be a she - went on, smiling bravely. “Fancy is well cared for, as you see.” She patted her enormous stomach, which hung low out of her tunic. Then she grasped onto Hermione’s hand and, with a great effort, stood onto her own two feet, where she wobbled unsteadily. “Lowly is my new Master,” she went on softly, “since Hogwarts no longer is. And Lowly is a very kind Master.” She gave a little hiccup, and uneasily sat down again.

“I see,” Hermione said, and did some mental calculus. “How long have you and Lowly been watching us?” 

“A short while,” Fancy responded with delight. “We’ve been doing what you and Master Severus do! And I have gotten very fat,” she said with a purr of pride. 

“Oh gods,” Snape said from across the room, hurriedly, as if he had been expecting this revelation somehow, and he clapped his hands. “Lowly?” 

The other elf popped into the room, clearly white with mortification. 

“Master Severus?” Lowly responded, not daring to look up at either Snape or Hermione. 

Snape sat up wearily and shook his head. “You and Fancy need to stop this. Stop it now.” 

“We see,” Lowly said, trembling and shaking. “We shall stop, Master Severus. We shall stop watching you.”

“No,” Snape said, his voice as hard as steel. “Not just that. You need to stop the feeding, too.” 

“We see,” Lowly said. 

“Get her back to normal,” Snape said with a frown. “You’ve abused your power. You are no longer Fancy’s master, Lowly. I have no idea how this started, but it ends now.” 

“But… but Fancy chose to be her servant,” Fancy exclaimed from the closet, “Fancy is *hers!*”

“Not anymore,” Snape said coldly. “You are relieved of your service to Lowly, Fancy. Lowly,” Snape added, and the elf looked up with a strained smile, “you will care for Fancy as one of your own brethren. Fancy is *not* allowed to become a servant to any other elf. And Fancy must be permitted to work again as a servant of Hogwarts, if she chooses. She *must* be given the ability to travel through the wards again. Am I understood?”

“...yes, Master Severus,” Lowly said, still white and shaking. Lowly then hurried to the closet, put her hand on Fancy’s shoulder, and blinked out of the space. 

“Gods,” Snape said, laying down again. “I can’t believe this. I truly can’t.”

“I don’t know what to think either,” Hermione said, also unnerved. 

“That settles it,” Snape said with a frown, staring at the ceiling, his fingers steepled on his chest. “We’ve got to stop this.”

She didn’t need to ask *what* they needed to stop. But the disappointment was immense. “What about… what about everything we’ve talked about?” Hermione asked, dismay filling her. She sat on the floor and leaned back against the wall. “I thought we were… well…”

He turned his head and glared at her. “It’s clear that this is no longer about two consenting adults doing something… unusual… in privacy,” he said, resolution in his voice. “This goes beyond us. 

“The world already sees us, as unusual, Hermione,” he went on, glum but resolved, “in the sense that we’re both intelligent beyond the comprehension of most of the feeble-minded dunderheads in the world. Why alienate ourselves even further by committing the sin of gluttony? Aren’t we both isolated enough without trying to make us even more distant and unreachable? Being intelligent already has enough dangers as it is. Being fat - well, there’s no surer path to being hated.”

Hermione squinted at him. “That’s very Catholic-sounding.” 

“My father,” he said with a twinge. 

He sighed. “And what of the other impressionable fools who see us,” he went on, closing his eyes and touching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, “Gods! Influencing a houseelf. That’s… like convincing a kitten to kill itself. Poor creature. That’s a sight I *never* want to see again.”

“Neither do I,” Hermione admitted. The whole situation had left her feeling uneasy, and Snape’s melodrama wasn’t helping. 

“Fortunately,” Snape said, “this was an early reminder.” He stood up with a sigh, and started pacing. “Even when we think we are alone,” he murmured, bitterly, “our actions have consequences. This will only become worse the farther along we go. So, stopping seems to be the most logical course of action to protect those around us.” 

“Why?” Hermione asked. “What will become worse?”

Snape rolled his eyes and kept pacing, his hands folded behind his back, his gait vigorous and betraying his distress. “People have not begun to notice you getting bigger, yet,” he said, “at least, not *really.* But it won’t be long before people do start noticing you. And then, they will be horrible to you.” 

He threw himself in a chair and glared at the coat-rack. Hermione did not answer him, so he went on, “Why would I want to curse you to a life of looking like me? People hate fat people. I confess it’s hard for *me* not to hate *me* for being so fat. So I refuse.”

She looked at him quizzically. “Refuse what?”

He shook his head, his hair covering his face moodily. “I refuse to begin walking you down a path towards universal loathing.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh come now.” 

“No,” he said, finally able to meet her eyes. “No. We can’t do this any longer.” 

There was fear in his voice and eyes, she could tell, and it wasn’t getting better the more he spoke. 

She got up and moved towards him. He was sweating profusely, and his forehead was cold to the touch. 

“Are you all right?” she asked, and wiped his brow with the back of her hand. 

“Perfectly,” he lied, but he maintained eye contact with her, testing her, daring her to call him on it. 

She threw up her hands. “Fine,” she said, “so you just get to make decisions for the both of us, is that right?”

He seemed to retract his dominance visibly, becoming more withdrawn and observational, and he scrutinized her face carefully, not responding. 

“Great,” she said crossly, “Glad to know I’ve got someone else looking out for what’s best for me who doesn’t even bother to solicit my opinion in the matter.”

She flounced away from him and went to manhandle the stray papers on the bureau. 

“I...you…” Snape tried to form a coherent thought, but her back was turned to him, and he hesitated. 

Finally, after some reflection, he proposed, “We could keep feeding me up, though. Perhaps just not as often.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” Hermione said with sullen sarcasticness, not bothering to look back at him. “My body also appreciates being told what to do. It’s so refreshing. I’ve never had to contend with other people commenting on what I should do about my body before.” 

“You must understand,” Snape said, though he sounded defeated already. “I’m just thinking of what’s truly best for you.” 

“You certainly know better than I do,” Hermione quipped in response. 

“You know,” he went on, though his heart was not in the argument anymore. “I am older than you. In theory, I *should* know better.” 

“I’m so glad you do,” Hermione said, “I’m sure I’d have been dead long ago without you by my side.” 

She was definitely not pleased with this course of events, and she mostly just wanted him to leave. 

What on earth was his problem? They’d been *just* at the point where they’d really gotten to know and appreciate each others’ bodies, and were on the beginning of a beautiful sexual and romantic journey. Why the hell did he have to fuck it up? 

*Oh.* Her mind went of its own accord to their prior conversation, about him being afraid of fucking things up, and self-destructing things that were going well. 

“Okay,” she said, with a deep breath, and she took another for good measure. “Okay.” 

She then turned around and faced him, though with a stern look on her face. “Okay.” 

And then she marched over to where he sat, shoulders slumped and belly hanging between his wide-spread legs, and she slapped him across the face before he could blink at her. 

He was startled, and glared at her. “Hey,” he began, but she slapped him again across his fat delicious face. 

He was thoroughly perplexed, and remained silent thereafter. 

“What do you think was the reason I did that?” Hermione asked. 

He took a breath, and put a hand to his cheek. “Erm,” he began, and decided, “Because you are asserting your right to autonomy, which I was trespassing upon.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, “but go on.”

“Because you don’t want me to change the way we have negotiated our relationship without consulting you in making changes?” 

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, “but there’s more.”

He curled his lip under and appeared thoughtful. “You don’t accept that our actions have broader effects on the people outside of our personal relationship.”

“Yes, but not what I’m going for,” Hermione said, “What was it that you were talking about very recently about… losing people?”

Snape opened his mouth to respond, but saw there seemed to be no use for it, and he closed his mouth again and bowed his head. 

“I won’t say that it’s entirely relevant here,” he responded finally, not able to look at her. “But I think you are right to remind me of the phenomenon.” 

“Right,” Hermione said grimly. “Now you’re going to take a moment and think about what you said, and come up with an alternative.”

His face was very expressive as it twisted for a few moments, revealing his frustration and anger, but it was amazing how he managed to suddenly bottle those emotions. His face became visibly blank, and he appeared thoughtful but phlegmatic. 

After a few moments of thoughtful silence, he said, “Hermione, I’m going to respectfully ask that we talk about what our relationship should look like going forward. I’m of the opinion that it’s possibly dangerous for you to gain weight at a rapid pace, for not only biological reasons but because of the social implications.” 

Hermione smiled, and lay down on the bed, stomach-first, to look at Snape carefully. 

“Thanks for your concern,” she said brightly, “but I’m happy with the way things are, thanks very much.” 

He took a deep heaving breath. “I see,” he said with a groan of despair. “Then what do you propose to do with my conscience, which is already showing signs of poisoning the small seedling of integrity that I’ve been trying to grow?” 

“Integrity?” Hermione asked with a laugh. “What, you mean your response to the Fancy and Lowly situation is one based on *integrity?*”

“Scoff if you like, Granger,” he said moodily, kicking at the floor with the toe of his stockinged foot. “It’s… it’s important that my own self-destruction not have an impact on others.”

“I understand,” Hermione said, and wrapped herself around his plump body. “I do.” She let her fingers sink into the crevice between his belly and his thigh, and it was so hot and warm there. She loved feeling his stomach expand and contract with every breath. It was like her fingers were in an ocean of warmth with the rising and ebbing tide around them. 

“Then what say you?” he asked, and she realized his breaths were getting shallower as he tried unsuccessfully to suck in his massive gut. 

She removed her hand, and he began to breathe normally again. It was clear that fat play was not something he was particularly interested in right now. 

“Do whatever you like,” Hermione said, smiling but firm. “I will support you in whatever you want to do - whether that’s getting thinner, getting fatter, staying the same, or just letting nature take its course. But,” she went on, “I ask you to extend me the same courtesy. Don’t tell me to stop enjoying my food, or modify my eating habits in any way.”

“Fine,” he agreed, “is that all?”

“Well,” she said with a small smile, looking up at him, “I’d like if you still let me enjoy your fat.”

He looked at her incredulously. “And what if, by some unusual chance, I become a thin man again?”

“Everyone has fat,” Hermione said. “Even thin people. It’s a matter of quantity.” 

He grimaced. “I suppose. So,” Snape said, a bit more hopefully, “is it possible that the actual intent to gain weight is something that we can leave aside?” 

“That’s what I said,” Hermione said, standing up and going to look at her figure in the mirror. It was fascinating to see how much more of it she filled up than she used to. Her tummy had emerged into its own, developing from a modest pot-belly to a full round mass of blubber, creamy and growing steadily heavier with every pound. She prodded her nice fat sides and made them wiggle. 

Snape shifted his legs uncomfortably, and his breathing quickened immediately. 

“Don’t you like this?” she asked, settling herself on the edge of the bed. “I certainly do.” She cupped her belly in her hand and cradled it. “Look at this nice pillow of soft jelly. It’s so warm to the touch and feels so comforting.” 

“Wait until you’re laughed at,” he murmured raspily, as if trying to convince himself. “Wait until you are the object of scorn for everyone in the castle.” 

“Look at my breasts,” she begged him, “aren’t they divine? Please tell me if they aren’t the most beautiful pair you’ve ever seen.” 

“My opinion’s worth nothing,” he replied, as if not quite hearing her, “what will beautiful breasts do when you’re alone and no one will help you?”  
“I have no intention of being alone,” Hermione said, cozying up to him more, and wrapping her arm around him, “not when I have you.”

His face was dark with unexpressed emotion. “But I won’t be around forever.” 

“And when you’re gone,” Hermione replied, “I still won’t give a fig about what other people think.”

“Oh,” he murmured as she kissed him, and he leaned back on the bed as she voraciously kissed him. “Oh.”

Several minutes later, he murmured, “Granger, you *must* have been a Slytherin in some past existence. I don’t know what you do to me, but-”

“-Shh,” she whispered back. “It’s all right. Let’s just be quiet here together for a while.” 

Soon the sound of their gentle snores filled the room. 

 

 

 

notes

Dear readers who like this fic: Sorry for lack of regular updates, real life stuff has been overwhelming lately. Thank you for reading and reviewing, you’re the greatest. Also please check out more art I commissioned from fattington at deviantart. (Google ‘fattington deviantart growing’ and look at fattington’s gallery!)

…. warning, soapbox ahoy! ….

Dear readers who leave reviews telling me it’s ‘unhealthy’ and ‘out of character’ and ‘the amount they’re eating is unrealistic’ and such: this is a piece of fiction written in the genre of weight gain fiction. Within the realm of said genre, my writing is consistent with those norms. I understand that if this isn’t something you’ve previously been acquainted with, then you might be shocked and disturbed. I can’t say I didn’t warn you - the label on the tin is pretty clear. Don’t like, don’t read. I think this fic counts as a ‘rule 34 of the internet’ type of fic. Take it in that spirit, please. And seriously: If you don’t like it, stop reading it. Take the story off your alerts. And stop commenting your hate. It bums me out and I don’t publish your comments anyway. 

I’ve been getting one lovely troll repeatedly telling me “you clearly are mentally ill because you wrote this disgusting thing.” I’d like to observe that this is really offensive to over twenty-five percent of the U.S. population. Over 60 million people in the U.S. alone experience some kind of mental illness or disorder in any given year (according to the National Alliance on Mental Illness, 2013). This number is inclusive of mood disorders like depression and psychotic disorders like schizophrenia. Please be respectful towards those who struggle with mental illness. 

Moreover: Exploring sexual fantasies through writing is hardly a symptom of mental illness. It is a natural thing to experience sexual fantasies that don’t fit within typical bounds of what sexual fantasies ‘should’ look like. I’m just more comfortable with my non-normative fantasies than some people. A fantasy like this can be really scary for people to learn about - and also to have! But I think many people reading this fic have had some kind of sexual fantasy that made them worry about their mental health. And that’s okay. The human brain is weird, and we can’t always predict or control what turns us on. All we can do is control our behavior, and make sure our real-life relationships are ethical, and our sexual play is consensual. 

Last point: One purpose of this fic is to help those who have this particular kink know that they’re not alone. I’m not advocating for people to become interested in this kink. I’m writing for those who already have this kink, especially those who are terrified about it, like I used to be. It’s a kink that is stigmatized both among people who struggle with their weight, and people who identify as kinky. But many people - like me - have known this kink was part of them since puberty. Fortunately, people are becoming less afraid to talk about weight-gain and fat-centric kink on the internet, at least within communities like Fantasy Feeder, Grommr, Dimensions Magazine Forums, and Tumblr. The more we talk about this kink outside of these communities, the more we can expand peoples’ ideas about sexuality. Even if I have to get abuse from commenters for it, I know it’s valuable. In the month of August, 3,345 individual visitors came and read this story. That’s 3,345 people who may not have heard of this kink before. Less than half of those visitors get to chapter two, as you might guess, and there’s significant attrition afterwards. But at this point, every update I get at least two hundred visitors per chapter. Isn’t that cool? I had no idea this story would get so much attention.


	26. breakfast, invite to puddifoot's

She awoke later in the morning to the feeling of his urgent kisses gently running up and down her neck. 

“Mmm,” she said, and swatted at him gently. “I won’t be getting up unless there’s coffee.”

With an exaggerated sigh, he heaved himself out of bed and padded to the kitchenette, where she heard him fill the coffee-pot with water and set it to boil. 

She drifted back into luxurious unconsciousness, where she found herself dreaming. She was at least a hundred pounds fatter herself, and she was thoroughly engaged in the task of taking all his clothes off and fucking all five-hundred pounds of him in the Great Hall on the staff table, in front of everyone. Their reasons for choosing that table were apparently that it was the only table in the castle that could support him. She thrilled at the sight of all the gaping mouths of students and staff, and proceeded to exhibit very seductively what kinds of pleasurable things she liked to do to him. 

His dick was almost in her mouth when the scent of strong coffee awoke her, and the flesh-and-blood three-hundred-twenty-four-plus-pound Snape was standing in front of her, sipping his own brew with one hand and hovering another cup under her nose. 

“Damn,” she said with a frustrated grin, “I was in a great dream.”

“Mm,” was all he said in response, and seated himself gingerly in her desk chair, which looked a bit frail underneath him. He looked at her with the kind of look of a person who is in pain, but trying to ignore it.

“I suppose I’ll be wanting a new chair soon,” said Hermione, sitting up and drawing the bedclothes closer around her, picking up the cup. “It’s better suited to the frame of someone like McGonagall than you or I.”

He shrugged, and the chair squeaked its protest at having someone so heavy upon it. 

“Also,” Hermione went on, “you look like hell. Are you feeling at all better?”

He tried to smile and looked out the window at the rain. “Slightly. Probably will be back to normal by evening.” 

“Did you sleep more?” she asked, and he shook his head negative. “You must have, just a little bit,” she said with a smile, “I heard you snoring.”

“Oh.” He didn’t seem particularly invested in the conversation. “Perhaps. For a few moments.” 

He stood up and went to stand at the window, where he took a few deep breaths.  
“What does it feel like?” she asked, easing herself out of bed, the blankets around her, her coffee in her hand. 

“What does *what* feel like?” he responded testily, clearly trying to dodge the question. 

She joined him at the window. The rain was heavy this morning, the clouds dark overhead and thunder echoing in the distance. The trees waved, their browning leaves falling with every gust of wind. 

“Your pain?” she asked after a solemn sip of her coffee.

He shook his head, as if not believing that she wanted to know. “To some extent, it’s like over-acute consciousness.” 

“What does that mean?” she asked thoughtfully. 

He made a noise of disappointment. “Have you not read, *Notes from Underground*?” 

She thought about it. “Who’s that written by?”

He smiled thinly. “Dostoyevsky.”

She shook her head. “No, he’s a Muggle. I’ve never prioritized reading Muggle literary fiction. If I read Muggle books, they’re generally nonfiction. There’s too much knowledge out there for me to spend much time reading for fun.”  
“Alas,” Snape said, and suddenly said, in a low, poetic sort of voice, “Well: It’s a ‘sort of secret abnormal, despicable enjoyment, acutely conscious that that day I had committed a loathsome action again, that what was done could never be undone, and secretly, inwardly gnawing, gnawing at myself for it, tearing and consuming myself till at last the bitterness turned into a sort of shameful accursed sweetness, and at last—into positive real enjoyment!’” He sighed. “Russians. They have such insight into my condition.” 

She put down her coffee and draped her arms around him, wrapping him in the blanket as well. His muscles were stiff to the touch, but halfheartedly returned the embrace. 

“It’s somewhat ironic,” he went on miserably. “My mind gnaws on itself. I gnaw on anything I can get in my mouth. Possibly there’s a correlation, on a metaphysical level.” 

She didn’t have much of a response. “I mean, if you want to think of it that way, you can,” she said, “but… I mean… I gnaw on everything I can, and I don’t have the same issue.”

This was a lie, though Hermione herself was loathe to admit it. The sensation of her mind gnawing on itself was something she was acutely familiar with, particularly from her school days, but also as recently as her time in the Ministry. She wondered if it had really gone away, or if it was just hidden out of sight lately because of spending so much time caring about Snape and his mental health. 

“Really,” he said acerbically, challenging her. He seemed to call her bluff, and he stared into her eyes for a few moments, then turned to look out the window again and sipped his coffee again with a facial expression of resignation. 

“I… I mean,” Hermione said, reluctantly, “I’m anxious sometimes…” 

He snorted, and finished the last of his coffee. “Sometimes?” 

“...I thought I was doing better,” she said grumpily. “And you definitely haven’t seen me at my worst.” 

“Maybe because I’m actually competent at doing what you want me to do, compared to Potter and Weasley,” Snape said with a grimace. 

“Now, that’s not fair,” Hermione said, putting the blanket on his shoulders and untangling herself from it. She went to the closet, arms crossed to keep warm, and put on the dressing-gown he’d given her. His eyes followed her nude body as she did so, clearly admiring her figure. 

“I think I’m right,” he said with a self-satisfied grumble, watching as she belted the gown. “You trust me to execute projects without constant oversight. I don’t think you’ve ever been able to do that with them.” 

“Maybe not,” she conceded, picking up her coffee and sitting on the window-seat. “But I don’t like where this conversation is headed, Severus.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it and shook his head. “You’re right. I… apologize.” 

“It’s all right,” she said with a sigh. She went back to the desk and picked up some papers. “So, are we going to talk more about what happened earlier this morning?”

“I don’t see a need to,” he said crisply, staring into sky. 

“All right,” she returned, and felt her stomach rumble. “Breakfast?” 

“More like elevenses,” he said, finally retreating from the window, looking as refreshed as was possible for him. He came over to where she sat at her desk, leaned over, and draped his arms around her as she opened a week’s worth of neglected correspondence, kissing her earlobe and holding her close to his chest. 

“Then let’s,” said Hermione, turning to kiss him on the lips and standing. 

He cuddled her in his arms for a few moments. 

“Let’s be moderate,” he said hesitantly. “I don’t need to be stuffed this morning.” 

She pressed her cheek against his soft chest flab and rubbed his delicious round belly. “I understand,” she said, snuggling him close, and he kissed the top of her head. 

Then she led him into the kitchenette, where she began to scavenge for something that was remotely edible. Both of them were moderately spooked, it seemed, from the incident with Lowly, and wanted to avoid interaction with the elves for the time being. 

Hermione did find some bread mix, and she made impromptu hot cakes. In accordance with his stated desires, she did not cook an exorbitant number - three for herself, five for Severus. There was peach-orange preserves and broken chocolate bits for flavor. 

There was something different about cooking for him, compared to just eating what the elves brought them. The smells filled the kitchen, making both of them hungry many minutes before the food was close to ready. 

Severus set the table with the cheap second-hand flatware from the cabinets - left over from whoever had lived in the flat last. Then he made himself incredibly unuseful in the kitchen, wrapping himself around her as she stood at the stove, kissing her and fondling her soft bits. 

“Please,” she said with a smirk as he licked the sensitive place under her ear, “don’t you have something better to do?” 

“You tell me,” he replied salaciously, rubbing her belly with one hand and snaking his other hand under the satin robe to her left breast. 

She firmly removed his hand from her breast and settled it on her waist so that she could flip the cakes in the pan with the spatula. “You’re in the way,” she said with some element of teasing.

In response, he sank onto the floor, his hands gliding down her hips, thighs, and legs as he went, and then he stopped touching her and seemed to contort himself into an awkward position on the floor. She twisted her head around her and saw that he was folded in half - he’d propped up his legs on the opposite counter, and was otherwise laying flat on the floor, looking up her skirt between her legs, his head between her feet. 

She stepped carefully aside to see his expression; he was smirking, and his eyes were dancing. 

“Was that still ‘in the way’?” he asked with a coquettish pout, and she gently kicked his shoulder with her stockinged foot. 

“I think you know the answer to that question,” she said, “now how on earth did you get into that position?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” he responded, “but I am sure I won’t be able to get out of it without your gracious assistance.” 

“Not while I’m cooking,” she said firmly, and responded by putting down the spatula and grabbing his hands, and (with great effort) dragging his fat arse out of the kitchenette to the living room, where there was a bit more space, and she laughed as he protested feebly. 

“Now, stay,” she commanded, and went back to the kitchen, but she took her robe off and left it on a chair in the living room. 

“I think you forgot something,” he said, not getting up from where he lay lazily on the floor. 

“For your own safety,” she responded with a laugh. “You can gawk at my lady bits all you like without risking a pan falling on your face.”

He snorted. “I was *not* gawking.”

“Well, what were you doing, then?” 

“Simply *appreciating.*” 

“Appreciate this,” she responded, and grabbed a spoonful of marmalade and took it to where he lay. She spread her legs and crouched over him, giving him a full view while offering the marmalade to his lips. He licked it up greedily from the spoon, then arched his neck and started licking her pussy with the hunger of a starving man. 

“Mm,” he murmured, readjusting himself to get a better angle, “You’re so wet.” 

“It’s just thinking about how nice and large you are,” she whispered with a gasp as she felt her body preparing to orgasm. “And how much you’re going to enjoy the food I’m making for you.” 

“Well then,” he said, a kind of thrilling satisfaction in his eyes. His hand absently wandered to rest on his large belly. “I suppose you really do like this, don’t you.” He seemed as if he could barely believe it. 

She began to feel a cramp in her upper thigh, so she stood straight again. “Yes,” she said simply, “I do enjoy it.” 

Then she went back to the stove, and barely caught the hotcake in time before it began to burn. 

Soon enough breakfast was on the table, and Snape was upright again and in a chair, and Hermione had served them both, and they were eating hungrily. 

“This is perfect,” Hermione complimented herself as Snape ploughed through his food. He nodded amiably in response, swallowed, and reached for the orange preserves to lather on the next layer of cake. 

“Mmm, more like Exceeds Expectations,” he responded with a humorous glint in his eye. 

“What,” Hermione said in mock dismay, “so you don’t want the rest, I take it?”

She reached for his plate and he moved it protectively towards him. “That is *not* what I said,” he said with a mischievous grin. “It merely could be improved.”

“How,” Hermione asked, “could it possibly be improved?”

“In the states,” he responded, filling his mouth with blatant pleasure, “they use warm maple syrup. And butter.”

“I see,” Hermione said, “so I fall short of American standards. That’s a low bar to miss, isn’t it?”

He grinned. “So you would imagine. But haven’t you seen how fat Americans are? They must have something going well for them or they’d look quite different.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes and leaned forward. “So now America is the height of culinary offerings. It’s clear you enjoyed yourself there,” she murmured, grabbing a hold of his fat roll and jiggling it in her hands. 

He nodded, his face growing red. He took another bite of his food, and a smudge of marmalade stuck to his chin. He reached out his tongue to lick it up, and then wiped his face with the back of his hand as he took another huge bite. 

The way his face curled into a state of pure satisfaction at that moment was so intriguing and delightful. She massaged the hill of his upper gut, which was pooching out of the thick rolls of fat around his middle, and he moaned in response, his eyes closed. 

Then Hermione moved back to take another bite from her own plate, and as she did so, her hands brushed against her plumpening thighs, sending them into jiggling waves. “Oh, god,” she murmured, and spread her legs urgently, and began to stimulate herself right there on her chair. She was so turned on, she could not wait for Snape to finish his food. 

He seemed torn for just the slightest of moments between eating food and eating something else, but swiftly he was on the floor, grasping on the legs of the chair and tonguing her in the most convincing way possible. 

She moaned and swore as he used his well-trained tongue on her. 

Oh gods, he was ravishing her. There was quite a bit of benefit to his mouth being the most exercised area of his body - there seemed to be no end to his licking and sucking. As she bucked her hips, he put two chubby fingers in her vagina and rubbed with them fiercely, and she couldn’t open her eyes because of the amount of pleasure she was feeling. 

He kept at it until she patted him on the head and collapsed against the back of the chair, at which point he was panting for breath and clearly exhausted. He sat back on his wide arse and breathed deeply. 

Hermione slipped off the chair to join him on the floor, where she nestled herself in his lap and reached up to massage the corners of his jaw. 

“That’s… so nice,” he murmured once he had regained his breath. 

“Hope you’re ready to finish your food,” Hermione said firmly, accio’ing the plate and fork from the table. “You’ve got to keep your strength up.” 

“Mm,” he said, opening his mouth. 

Hermione put the hot cakes in his mouth, letting him slowly chew between bites. The sheer euphoria he was experiencing was tangible in every smacking noise of his lips, every gurgle of his stomach, and every little moan he had with every bite. 

Alas, too soon it was all gone. It was clear to her that he was still hungry to a degree, but he patted his tummy and rubbed it.

“Are you still hungry?” she asked, “you can finish mine, if you want.”

“No,” he said, leaning back against the wall, “I’m quite satisfied. You need to finish your own food. I have no desire to see you become a formless waif before my eyes, if I have anything to do with it.” 

“I see,” she said with a laugh, and took her plate from the table, and a pillow from the main sofa, and sat with him on the floor. She leaned back and accepted as he served her bite after bite of the rich cakes. 

As it happened, she was quite glad that he hadn’t accepted her offer of her leftovers, because she ate every bite and still was painfully hungry afterwards. 

“Is there more in the kitchen?” he asked as he eased himself up off the floor. She shook her head. 

“No, and there’s barely anything else either.”

Snape didn’t believe her, and went to look for himself. Hermione cradled her stomach, which was begging for more food, and she took a look at herself. Her tummy was distinctly convex, finally claiming a victory in how it began to spill out from under her breasts, and was finally beginning to look substantial. As she curled up, her belly squished into adorable rolls of fat, perfect for grabbing onto. Her breasts rested on them, heavy and squishy. But her belly was what was blocking up her line of vision when she looked down - a refreshing change from her breasts occupying that position of prestige. 

Snape came back into the room empty-handed. 

“You’re right,” he said with tangible disappointment in his voice. He extended his hands to her, and helped her up. She mopingly went to the sofa and sat upon it. 

“Oh,” he breathed as he looked at her, his mouth clearly watering, and she looked down at herself. Her belly spread across her thighs and made for an inviting plump lump of fat. He sat down next to her and wrapped his arms around her, nestling his plump fingers in the crevice formed between her tummy and her thigh. 

“You’re so delicious,” he whispered, kissing her cheek. “So, it appears you are still hungry?”

“Quite,” she said, grumpy. “Let’s go to town, shall we?”

He took a deep breath and did not respond for a few moments. He seemed entirely too preoccupied by touching her soft, supple skin. The way he gazed at her belly was far too telling. His fingers ran over the stretch marks there and massaged them gently. 

“Snape?” she said, and he jerked slightly, startled. 

“Erm. Yes. Madam Puddifoot’s?” he asked, and it seemed that there was an element of fear in his voice. 

“Not really,” she said with a smirk, “that seems cruel and unusual torture. What about the pub in town? The one that isn’t Aberforth’s.” 

He did not answer her right away, so she intuited that he wasn’t in favor of this plan. 

“Erm,” she asked, “is there somewhere else you’re thinking of?” 

He waited several long moments, his chin on her shoulder, arms wrapped around her, continuing to finger her soft flesh. Finally, with some amount of embarrassment, he confessed, “Well… erm… I really would prefer the former.” 

Hermione was so surprised she laughed. “Are you *really* saying you’d prefer to go to Madam Puddifoot’s over a quiet anonymous pub?” 

He looked uncomfortable, and quickly retracted, “It’s fine. The pub is fine.” 

Hermione just laughed. “No, I’m entirely ambivalent. I mean, if it were a Hogsmeade weekend, I wouldn’t be keen on going to Madam Puddifoot’s, but if you have a preference…”

“It *is* a Hogsmeade weekend,” Snape said, standing up and going to mess with some papers on the coffee table as an excuse to not look at her. “And I would like to go there, even so.”

Hermione grinned broadly. “Are you serious?” 

“Yes,” he said testily, as if insulted, not looking at her. “I have it on good authority that it’s a pre-requisite to becoming someone’s someone, when you’re at Hogwarts.”

She felt like she couldn’t stop smiling. “I can’t believe it,” she said with as gentle a taunt as she could muster. “Severus Snape, you’re asking me to Madam Puddifoot’s. On a public date.” 

He still wasn’t looking at her. “They have good coffee.”

“I… I suppose,” she said with a smile. “I don’t know that anyone’s asked me to go there before.” 

“Then let me be the first,” he said solemnly, turning to stare at her. 

Their eyes met, and there was such an intensity to his gaze that it nearly frightened her. There were so many emotions that he seemed to be permitting to the surface of his eyes - trust, possessiveness, desire, pride, and fear. 

Fear of what, she had to wonder. But fundamentally pride seemed to be the most overwhelming emotion she could read, and she stood up and let her lips melt into his. 

After a few moments of snogging, she let go and patted his fine round rump. 

“Give me a moment to dress,” she said, practically bouncing into the next room.


	27. puddifoots, sexytimes, love oops

They arrived at Madam Puddifoot’s at just the perfect time. Most of the folks in there were older students, the more mature ones who were less interested in getting a sugar rush from Honeyduke’s. So the tea shop was bustling, but still managed to be intimate. A disgusting amount of chintz and lace comprised the decor, though in a perverse way it was charming. 

“Cloying atmosphere,” Snape said, as if this expedition hadn’t been his idea in the first place, and he stuck his nose in the menu almost as soon as they were seated at a table. Hermione laughed a little to herself and did the same. She was quick to decide on what she wanted, so there was time for her to look around her and see if there were any students she recognized. 

Of course there were. Sixth-years Josephine Lestrange and Geoffrey Norell were hotly engaged in a jealous staring contest between themselves (apparently over the bashful and intimidated Michaela Secundis) and were too occupied to notice Hermione and Severus. But seventh-year Frank Graysteel was a little more alert - he seemed to be waiting for someone, and was trying (but failing) to be nonchalant, with a novel in his hand. He covertly peeked over the edge of the book every time the door jangled and glanced first at the person who came in, and then, given boredom, at Hermione and Severus. 

Hermione took Severus’ hand and ran her thumb over his fingers. Without looking up at her, he surreptitiously squeezed back. His stomach audibly rumbled, but he ignored it and sipped at the mug of tea, which a server had plunked upon their table when they arrived.

Seeing this gesture of affection, Frank Graysteel’s eyebrows shot up, and he tried unsuccessfully to hide his stare. He dropped his book, and took his time bending down to retrieve it again, curiosity emanating from behind his glasses. 

Hermione knew her classes would be a little more awkward from this point forward, as everyone speculated about her and the former potions master. She wondered how people would react. She fully expected people to be confounded. But, she thought, as she looked at her lover settle deeper into the most comfortable chair in the room with a big enough seat to accommodate him, who else would the public actually approve of her dating, other than Ron? 

Better Snape, who was respected for his intelligence, feared for his temper, and romanticized for his long-suffering admiration of Lily Potter, than some weedy Newt Scamander-type like Graysteel, who couldn’t keep up with her own intelligence, temper, and passion. 

But as she was to discover, the public also seemed uncharitably favored towards her being Snape’s partner, just as much (if not more than) the public seemed uncharitably favored towards him being her partner. 

Example A: Madam Puddifoot herself was there to greet them the moment Severus lowered the menu, her plump face dimpled and her mood effusive.

“My dear Professor Snape,” she gushed, “It’s been so long. And who is this with you… Miss Granger? Oh!” She fanned herself with her hand quite prettily, her other hand on her apron. “You look so much younger than I thought,” Madam added to Hermione. 

That was the last amount of attention she paid to Hermione. Madam Puddifoot turned her entire body very deliberately towards the former potions master. The tea-shop owner was very stout and had a shiny black bun, which was just a notch less tight than McGonagall’s. As her gaze moved back to Severus, her hand drifted up to twist her jangly earring,. Her eyes fluttered at him. “I’m so glad to see you here. I do hope you’ll become a regular.”

Snape had no response for this, so Madam Puddifoot tried another tactic. “Do you have… any *questions* about the menu?” 

Snape blinked once or twice at her, and shook his head, looking for all the world like a cat that had been given an unwilling bath. “None,” he said firmly, snapping the menu shut and thrusting it at her. “I’ll have the full monty, but no bubble and squeak.” 

“Full English,” repeated Madam Puddifoot, looking as delighted as a cat offered cream, “no bubble and squeak.”

“Right,” he said with a roll of his eyes, letting them rest where they met Hermione’s. “Darling?”

Hermione smiled faintly, not particularly pleased at seeing the way Madam Puddifoot’s finger curled the loose hair that drifted down her cheek - in a way that showed she was interested in Severus. 

He seemed to not notice, however, as he fiddled with the corner of the doily that served as a placemat, worrying a loose string. 

“Here, let me get that,” Madam Puddifoot said with a genteel - but no less suggestive - note in her voice. She drew a tiny pair of scissors from a clasp at her belt, and she grasped her hand on Snape’s shoulder (in what was clearly a staged accident) to catch her balance and leaned her heavy large breasts practically in his face as she leaned forward. She inserted her hand between Severus’ and the doily deftly, and snipped the little bit of string. 

“Erm,” Severus said, but it was too late - the string was snipped, and swept off the table by Madam Puddifoot’s plump hands. She put the tiny bit of thread in her pocket, and patted it warmly. 

“There,” she said, and as if she noticed a speck of dust on his shoulder, she brushed him off with her hand. Then, smiling innocently, she turned to Hermione. “So sorry about that. And what will you be having, dear?”

Hermione’s smile was barely civil at this point. “What he’s having,” she said, fierce with solidarity for Snape’s awkwardness, and also because Madam Puddifoot’s intentions were so patently clear. 

Madam Puddifoot took a gander at Hermione, looking the girl up and down, and very slightly shook her head, tsking. “Coming right out,” she said with a low, disapproving mutter, and Madam Puddifoot left their table.

“Sheesh,” Hermione said once the woman was out of earshot. “What a performance!”

“What performance?” Snape asked, yawning and stretching his legs out under the table, clearly enjoying the comfortable chair. He looked relaxed, and hungry. 

Hermione’s eyes blazed. “Are you really going to pretend that didn’t happen?” she demanded, leaning towards him. “That her double standards weren’t so painfully obvious?”

“I don’t understand,” Snape said, clearly confused. He moved to sit up slightly. Hermione’s jaw dropped. 

“I… I can’t,” she said. 

He looked no less confused, but the toe of his shoe gently nudged at one of her calves. His face was somehow both sharp, but also thoughtful, and Hermione decided to give up for the moment. 

“Oblivious much,” she muttered, and shaking her head, she cast a customized flatten-surface charm. The teacups and flowers and doilies flattened on the table, and a semi-transparent chessboard, complete with pieces, appeared in an overlay.

Snape had the good taste to look impressed. “Clever,” he intoned, and pressed his finger to the checkered board. It went straight through. Then he moved his knight from behind the battle lines to the board. It operated same as any other chess piece composed of regular matter, and stayed where he put it. “Is it an illusion?” 

“Partly,” Hermione said, with a grin. “Something I worked up in the forest of Dean during the last year of the war. We didn’t have much, and we had to make do with what we had. Do you play much?”

“No,” he answered carefully, “though I did really get into board games in America.” 

The idea of Snape playing Snakes and Ladders popped into Hermione’s head, and she burst out laughing. 

He looked annoyed. “Oh, come on,” he said, and moved a piece from her side of the board. 

“Hey,” she said and tried to take it back, and barely got to it in time before he placed it down. “Not fair.” 

“Then stop laughing and play,” he said testily, but she could tell there was good humor behind it. 

So she focused, and they played. Now, Hermione thought she was really good after years of playing against Ron. But Snape was soundly trouncing her by the time they were five moves in, and Hermione’s king was starting a futile attempt to escape a circle by the time their food arrived. 

Madam Puddifoot was clearly not in the habit of serving most of her customers, as was easily observed by anyone who noticed her clean-aproned young busgirls. But she brought their plates out herself. “There we go,” she said comfortingly, as though they were impatient children, laying down the hot sizzling dishes, “we’re all taken care of, love.” She seemed to be speaking to Snape specifically, and this time he picked up on what was happening, casting a questioning glance at Hermione. Madam Puddifoot, for her part, grabbed Snape’s napkin. “I asked the cook to put on a few extra sausage for you, dearie,” she said, making a move to put Snape’s napkin on his lap.

He intercepted her hands deftly, grasping them tightly at the wrists. Madam Puddifoot was caught slightly off balance, and she leaned forward with a gasp, her face approaching Snape’s to the point where they could have been touching noses.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, and his eyes firmly staring into the hapless tea shop owner’s. Finally, with disgust, he stated, “Thank you, Madam Puddifoot, you have certainly been *more* than helpful.” Only then did he drop her wrists and turn to make contact with Hermione’s eyes. He seemed to be searching for a sign of her approval. 

For her part, Madam Puddifoot looked embarrassed. “I… I’ll be telling the girls to refresh your tea,” she said, and scurried off to the safety behind her main counter.

Hermione smirked as she took a forkful of grilled mushroom. “That was something,” she said, moving the chess board a little bit higher, so they could see their food better. 

Snape shook his head, burying himself in his food, not meeting her eyes. “Tell me next time, please.” 

“Tell you… what? Why?” Hermione asked, “don’t you notice it when these things happen?” 

He closed his eyes as he shoveled an entire slice of black pudding in his mouth. “No,” he said, after swallowing contentedly, “I don’t.” He grimaced, still not looking up. 

Hermione gazed at him. “Really?” 

He didn’t meet her eyes or answer, but he was clearly uncomfortable with the set of events. “Gods,” he said, and that was all. 

He proceeded to stab his eggs savagely, straight in the centers, letting the gooey yolks smear all over his plate. 

“Hey,” Hermione’s hand sneaked across the table. “Hey.” She felt his fingers relax into her hand, and he took a deep breath, then looked up at her. 

There was that same sense of despair in his face that she’d witnessed the night before. And as she looked into his trying-to-be-blank eyes, she was overwhelmed by a sense of her own helplessness in helping him. There wasn’t anything she could do to make him feel better, not really. She could say things, but they might not seep in. 

“It’s okay,” she whispered. He gave her a look that clearly read, ‘It isn’t,’ but he took a piece of toast, erased the remaining yolk from his plate with the bread, and put it in his mouth, not breaking his gaze with her for a moment. 

She squeezed his hand, and put down her fork. 

“Do you want to go?” she asked. 

He shook his head in the negative, and silently went on to chew a sausage. 

Hermione didn’t know what to do, so she cleared away the game from the air. He looked at her askingly. 

“You were about to win,” she answered, waving her hand where the board had been. 

He nodded, not arguing, and they finished their meal in relative silence. 

He seemed better after having paid the bill and gone outside. The weather was chilly, and he took deep breaths of air as they stepped out into the blowing autumn leaves. 

“It’s getting colder,” he observed as they walked down the cobblestones of Hogsmeade. 

Hermione nodded, pressing herself closely to him, and he tightened his grip on her arm. It was remarkable how he made her feel so safe with just that simple touch, and she felt herself thrill. 

They sat down on a bench facing Montgroot’s Roots, a magical plant nursery with a greenhouse that rivalled Hogwarts’ for variety. 

“I’m enjoying today, Madam Busybody notwithstanding,” Hermione said as they placed themselves there. Severus couldn’t respond at first; they’d been walking briskly uphill, and he was a bit out of breath. His cheeks flushed as red as dirigibles, and the rest of his face was almost porcelain white. As he breathed deeply, he tucked her into his arms, and gently hid his nose against the softness of her neck, inhaling her scent. 

“I am too,” he said, finally regulating his breath at a normal speed. His lips pressed against her skin, and he held her tighter. “I’m sorry about my fucked up emotions.” There was a choking feeling behind his words. 

She wriggled her arms out of the cozy place between their bodies and patted his back warmly. “You’re getting through some stuff,” she said, “and you hold it against yourself more than I hold it against you. Thank you for letting me witness it.” 

“Yeah,” he replied, which seemed to be all he could say. Then, with a deep breath, he leaned back a bit and studied her. “Why do you want to be with an old, broken fool as me?” he asked rhetorically, “You’re so pretty and smart.” 

He sounded like a child, and it broke her heart to hear him like this. But she smiled steadily at him in response, which made him grab her roughly and bring her lips to his. 

His kisses were stern, at first, but they became secretly grateful, as if he didn’t want to admit that he needed them as much as he did. 

“Ew!” cried a cadre of first-years walking by. 

Hermione and Snape ignored them, instead kissing each other all the more urgently. 

They broke away at long last, both of their moods improved. 

“All right,” Hermione said, “we had better get back to the castle.” 

“What for?” he asked, standing with some exertion. “Let’s go into the woods. It’s clear I need some exercise.” 

“Aw,” Hermione said “why do you say that?”

He snorted. “If I’m having this much trouble walking up a hill, that doesn’t bode well.” 

“Okay,” Hermione affirmed, “as long as it’s not for reasons having to do with aesthetics. Because, just in case you don’t know, I find you *very* aesthetically pleasing.” 

He stole another kiss from her, his only response to that, and they heaved themselves up and walked down the hill to where a forest path began, along the rim of the Forbidden Forest (the part that wasn’t forbidden). 

“It’s a good day for a walk,” Hermione said, though she wished she had worn thicker socks. She was wearing a heavy velvet cloak that, granted, was not all that good for forest expeditions, but was incredibly picturesque. 

Snape nodded. He wasn’t really as out of shape as he thought he was, Hermione decided, watching him. He didn’t waddle, though his succulent arse was truly as beautiful and round as a ripe cantaloupe. His thighs were thick and scraped together with every step, jiggling with the aftershock of his movements. 

His belly was the part that gave him the most trouble, though, as he had to maneuver the monstrosity through space with every step, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it. Especially as they started to climb a stone staircase that wound its way through the goldening trees, he would awkwardly twist and turn in uncomfortable-looking ways that revealed that he had only recently acquired such a massive tummy. It got in the way, and fundamentally he was not used to it. He was used to being an incredibly fit and thin person, and he’d never tried to be a fit and fat person. 

Hermione, being a lifelong nerd who was more comfortable on the couch than off it, had never bothered to develop fitness, but she knew enough about it from books. She wondered what it must be like, to be carrying that enormous protuberance in front of her. She couldn’t feel confident that her own experience with her little mushy belly was enough data to really know what it was like. 

She herself was panting just as much, if not more, than Severus by the time they stopped mid-staircase, and she had to bend over and catch her breath while he leaned against a wooden rail that was there, also breathing heavily. 

But watching him struggle was simultaneously a turn-on for her, though also she felt incredibly bad for being turned on by his straining. They started walking again, and she deliberately held back behind him because she loved watching the way his fat moved on his body, enjoyed hearing him huff and puff as he struggled in front of her, and sensing his overall frustration with his body. 

They finally got to the top of the hill, and Snape immediately seated himself on a long sun-warmed stone, panting. Hermione also clambered onto it and lay down, curling herself around him slightly. 

“Let’s rest a bit,” Hermione said, pulling at the hood of his cloak, and he nodded and lay back with her, his chest rising and falling steadily as he recuperated. 

Eventually, he recovered enough to pay a little more attention to her, and he smirked as he patted her belly. It jiggled, and made noise as her second breakfast sloshed inside her. His fingers hooked themselves in the fatty place at the top of her belly, and his wrist started to move in a skilled vibrato. This motion set her entire belly pulsing with waves of flesh, and Hermione felt her breath catch again, her cervix tighten, her butt fat jiggle as she tightened her glutes, and an overwhelming hunger to be penetrated. 

“Come here,” she begged, and pulled at Snape’s belt. “Please. Fuck me. I’m dying here.”

He laughed in a rumbling way. “In the middle of the forest?”

“Yes!” She moaned. “I’ll be quick, I promise.” 

“How enticing you make it sound,” he quipped, but he was already getting up and yanking down his trousers and pants. He wasn’t very hard, but one hand worked at himself while his other one scrambled to make contact with her own underparts. She moaned as soon as his fingers dove under her panties, and just the slightest brush of his finger against her peachy pubic fat made her shiver and moan. 

Hermione, at this, began rubbing her belly, slapping it, making it into the greatest visual spectacle it could be without taking her clothes off. And then she realized, this was silly - she didn’t need to take off all her clothes to bare her tummy! So she pushed her cardigan up, and her collared shirt, and revealed her rounding belly in all its splendor, shaking joyously as she stimulated it. 

The very sight made Severus moan too, and he forcefully yanked down her underwear. It was progressively too small, and got stuck at her mid-thigh area, and he chortled with glee. 

“Getting too big for your pants, eh,” he murmured, stroking himself furiously. “I need to get a better look of what you like with your delicious rump pouring out of them. But not right now - now you need my cock inside you. You’re not able to wait for me to fully savor the sight of your growing body, not right now. You need to be fucked. By me. Now. For whatever reason. Right where anyone coming up the path could see.”

Hermione groaned, and spread her legs as far as they could with the constraint of her panties, which were like handcuffs, and in fact the elastic was cutting into her skin. Snape saw this and, with his bare hands, grabbed the panties and ripped them down the crotch. Or at least tried to - the result was that said panties had a reinforced crotch (very sensible panties they were), and he had to actually use his teeth in order to get the fabric ripping. 

Not that Hermione was complaining. The undies were quite wet with her sweat and desire, and it was incredibly sexy to see this enormous man with her undies in his teeth. 

So without further ado, he cast the necessary spells and rammed himself into her. The stone on which she lay was the perfect position for him to slam himself into her, and his bit of exercise seemed to have invigorated his efforts. So the net effect was better than Hermione could remember, even with him. 

The stone was starting to feel cold, so she had to stop and place her cloak underneath her exposed buttocks. 

The feeling of sexual fireworks was utterly complete at that point. Severus’ member was going in and out at such a rapid pace, Hermione felt like it couldn’t actually be attached to a human being, much less one as large and chubby as Snape. He himself growled as he took her, gnashing his teeth and completely losing himself in the act. 

But all good things must end, so with a final shudder, Severus spent himself inside her, and groaning and gasping, he crawled onto the stone next to her, pulling his pants halfway up. 

“That was amazing,” Hermione whispered, feeling like people said marijuana made people feel like - she was gazing up at the clouds above them, and feeling every bit as high as they were. 

“Feeling is mutual,” gasped Severus, who was sweating with the exertion. 

They lay there with closed eyes for a while, breathing in the scent of the woods around them, and the sounds of the occasional bird tweeting. 

But hurriedly, a whispering - “Quick, let’s go,” - and Hermione sat up as if electrocuted. She was just in time to see the retreating form of Frank Graysteel, holding the hand of another student Hermione didn’t recognize, and they were running at top speed down the stairs. 

Snape groaned. “Well,” he said, “fuck.” 

Hermione began to giggle. “Oh gods,” she murmured, “poor kids.” 

“Serve them right for sneaking off against supervision,” Snape said a little more sternly. He turned his head and looked into her eyes, his face stoic. 

Hermione shook her head and began full-out laughing. 

Snape seemed inclined to remain properly embarrassed by the incident, but Hermione couldn’t stop laughing. 

So he smirked. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, kissing her, “you really don’t care?”

“No,” Hermione said grandly, feeling benevolent and giddy, “I’m in love with Severus Snape. I don’t give a shit who knows that.” 

This utterance seemed to freeze Severus - his body grew still, and he seemed to stop breathing as he processed this information. 

“Erm,” he said, and Hermione realized that she’d possibly gone into dangerous territory. She apologetically sat up to look him in the eye. 

He sat up too, more cautious than she. 

“So,” he said, and his tongue passed over his lips thoughtfully. “They say it’s easier for a woman to fall in love with a man, and that it’s also easier for a woman to fall out of love with a man. And that when a man falls in love, it is more difficult for him to get in and out.” 

Hermione snorted. “We don’t live in the 1950s anymore, Severus.”

“Hold on” he amended, “I don’t mean to say that’s true… after all, where does a gender-nonconforming person fit into that schema? ...what I mean to say is… Hermione…” He reached up and touched her hair, which was nearly golden in the autumn sun, “I’m not ready to say that I’m in love with you. At least not yet.” 

Hermione felt a lump in her throat - oh, she was so stupid! - but she nodded. “Of course,” she said, “I was speaking without thinking.” 

“It’s all right,” he said, and stroked her, and pulled her gently into an embrace. “I also don’t want to make it seem as if… that isn’t something that I want with you. In fact, all evidence points towards me experiencing loving feelings towards you this very moment, for example - my sense of completeness when I’m with you, the.... the bewildering drive to want to see you all the time… my heartbeat when I join with you… my desire to have sex with you constantly… I mean,” he went on, stumblingly, “It’s just… I don’t have a lot of experience with love, so please forgive me if I am cautious to say that I love a person. Is that fair?”

“Certainly,” Hermione said, though she felt wounded. She knew intellectually that he wasn’t denying the feelings they’d been sharing together, but he just wanted to be slower and confirm that it was something he could safely invest in before he committed. 

Emotionally, she felt like he felt she wasn’t worth committing to. She felt like if there really was love here, he’d have to break his rules in order to engage in it fully. And he wasn’t willing to set aside his conventions and needs in order to just enjoy being with her. 

And that truly stung. 

“So,” she confirmed, trying to dispel the lump that grew in her throat, “you just need more time before you feel you can safely be in love with me.”

He breathed out, apparently feeling understood. “Yes,” he murmured. 

“So,” Hermione said, “despite your actual admitted feelings, you don’t want to say you’re in love with me, even though you feel like you’re in love with me.”

Severus seemed to be realizing that he had said the wrong thing, and a cautious, ‘Yes?’ peeled out of his voice, inviting her to say more.

Hermione turned away from him and said, fiercely, “I’m not sure if you understand me. I don’t think it’s fair for you to hold out on me in the saying of something as essential and affirming as ‘I love you,’ especially when your only good reason is convention or something.” 

Severus was puzzled and perplexed, and there was an anger behind those feelings. 

“So, what are you saying?” he asked, clearly bracing himself for an answer he didn’t like. 

Hermione felt like screaming at him, but she kept her voice calm as she answered him. It was a heroic effort. “If you feel a feeling,” she said, “say you feel it. Don’t hide it. Love is not forever, Severus, even if you are desperate for it to be. You don’t have to love me tomorrow just because you love me today. Love isn’t a commitment. It’s a feeling.”

“And that’s where we differ,” Severus said, his voice firm as steel. “As it happens, I *do* love forever, Granger. Every single person I have ever loved is part of me for the rest of my life. When you fuck me, you also fuck Lily Potter and Erika Holmes.”

“Now that’s just creepy,” Hermione said, despite herself. 

Severus looked fierce, but ignored the comment. “For me, Granger, love is a commitment. It’s more than that. It’s an alliance. It’s me saying, I will forever let myself be changed by you. When I love someone, I look at the world with them through their eyes, and I will possess and be possessed by them. For me to love someone, Granger, is to take a part of their soul, and make it part of my own. So forgive me,” he said, with a huff, “if I’m not prepared to make that kind of promise after a few weeks of a relationship.” 

Hermione found herself close to tears, but she at least could understand where he was coming from. 

“I see,” she said, and took a deep breath. “I hear you. I think you’re wrong, but I do hear you.”

Snape shrugged. “Maybe it means I’m not very good at polyamory,” he mused, and it sounded like he’d never thought of this before. “But I can’t change this basic principle of my being.” 

Hermione nodded, and took a deep breath. 

As she became calmer, he began to stroke her hair, and cuddle her softly. 

“For what it’s worth,” he said again, but there was little hope in his voice as he said it, “I’m certainly in a place where it’s possible to love you in the near future, given time.”

“Fine,” Hermione said, and sighed. 

They sat there for several minutes, and Hermione began to pull on her clothes, minus her lost underpants. 

“What are you doing?” asked Severus, curious but not pressing her. 

“I’m headed back to the castle,” she said, and added as an afterthought, “are you coming with?”

He looked at her for a few minutes, sadly, and said, “Erm. No. I want to sit here for a while yet.”

Hermione shook her head and walked away. “See you later?” he called, feebly, not believing in it. 

Hermione didn’t look back. “I’ll slip you a note when I’m ready,” she responded, and she headed down the hill. 

As she was nearly out of earshot, she heard him cursing at the heavens. 

 

………  
Hi readers! I’ve had a rough job situation the past few months. But I just got hired by a really cool org, so maybe we’ll see more consistent updates in the new year!


	28. mcgonagall confrontation

Hermione wasn't sure how she felt once she returned to her room. As she curled up in her messy bed, she felt the echoes of Snape's presence there. A few long hairs were left on the pillow, and her mattress retained his imprint despite him having vacated the spot so much earlier. The house-elves had done the dishes in the sink, at least. 

She felt like she had lost him, though she realized she was being melodramatic. She hadn't lost him. She needed space to think. 

There was no question in her mind whether or not this relationship was worth it. Being with Severus made her feel... incredible. Some people might have found his negativity too toxic, his depression too heavy, his sexual inclinations perverse. But she didn't feel that about any of those things. 

No, she didn't doubt that Severus was a good match for her, and moreover, she didn't doubt that he loved her at least as much as she loved him. 

But could she accept that he wasn't able to give himself over to it completely? 

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting her head rest on the clean white pillows. Yes, she could accept it. It was hard, bur she had to accept where he was at, right now. She couldn't convince him to be different than he was. That wasn't what a relationship was about. You either like the person and what they bring to the table, or get out of the relationship. You can grow together, and alongside each other, but there's no changing a person when you're in a partnership with them. 

Change, after all, comes from within. And Hermione knew that. But damn if it wasn't inconvenient and uncomfortable for her. 

So as she lay there, she thought about her poor lover feeling angry and scared in the forest. She knew he'd headed back soon after her - she was certain the only reason he held back was to give her space. 

She rose up and grabbed her wand. It took her a few moments to get over her anger and think of something happy - the way he'd nuzzled her and kissed her so warmly, the feeling of the cold stone on her skin as he'd ravished her, and the way the sunlight glinted through the translucent leaves of the forest... and then the otter emerged from her wand. 

"Hi sweetheart," she whispered to the otter, who she privately called Kyle. She brushed the creature's glowing fur and Kyle danced around her, reproachfully. He knew he was an apology. "Go to Severus and tell him I'm sorry..."

The otter seemed to set his mouth grimly, and he batted at the oyster that he carried in his hand, not opening it for her message. 

"Okay," Hermione replied, "Tell him, that I'm very sorry I acted so immature. And that now that I've had a moment to myself, I'm not mad, and that I want to see him tonight. Or, if not, tomorrow is also fine." 

She sent the otter away with a whisk of her hand, and Kyle disappeared out her window. 

Hermione took a moment to relax there in the cool bed, and picked Severus' hairs off the pillow and put them on her side-table, not quite willing to part with them. They were a tangible reminder that he existed, and that they had something together. 

She then proceeded to get out her students' papers and work idly on grading. It was tedious work, but a necessary part of the job, of course. 

It was no surprise that she received a knock on the door as the afternoon went on, and Hermione quickly pulled her hair into something presentable and answered it. 

It was a surprise that McGonagall was the one standing there, a curious light in her eyes. 

"Hermione," she said gracefully, and at Hermione's gesture she walked into the room. "I'm glad I caught you. How are you this fine Saturday?"

"Fine," Hermione answered, a little embarrassed to be found grading in bed, instead of a more respectable place like the desk or table. As it happened, she was embarrassed at the mess of her living room - while there was space for two pudgy people on the couch, none of the other chairs were clear, all was covered in books. Snape's laptop was in there still, now that Hermione realized it, and she tried to ignore it. 

"I'm glad," Minerva said, and seated herself in the space on the couch, primly, trying not to disrupt a leaning tower of reading materials on the opposite end. "So, I just wanted to see how you are doing, regarding that paperwork you were going to fill out." 

Hermione tried desperately not to blush. "Hm. About that. I'm not actually going to be filling it out, after all."

"Ah," Minerva said, her lips firm. "Well then. I suppose that's all I wanted to ask about, really."

"Erm," Hermione said, "that's it?"

McGonagall nodded, but there seemed to be some secret amusement in her eyes. 

Hermione took a deep breath. "No, that's not it. What can I help you with?" 

McGonagall smiled. "Well. Heavens. I mean, I don't want to be prying into your personal business." 

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Really? You don't want to pry?"

"But I must be curious, just from a professional standpoint," returned McGonagall with a hint of humor. "I heard a rumor today that was... very interesting."

"Rumor away," Hermione responded, clearing off one of the armchairs so that she had a place for herself to sit. 

McGonagall looked humored. "I'm hearing that have had the good fortune to find yourself a beaux." 

While this was certainly true, Hermione flushed red. "You might say that."

The smile in McGonagall's eyes was not wavering. "I'm glad to hear it," she said, and she sighed. "To be truthful, I'm glad to hear it is Severus. I've always worried about the poor boy, and he's certainly not an easy person to tolerate." 

"He's changed," Hermione responded, thoughtfully. "He's not like he used to be. He's..." She paused. "He's different now." 

McGonagall gently clucked her tongue. "That's certainly evident, dear." 

But it was clear that Minerva really didn't understand, not like Hermione did. "In other ways, too," Hermione added, "He's not as bitter as he used to be." 

The headmistress seemed to hear her. "Hermione," McGonagall said, "I'm sure that he has. Time has healing properties for all of us. But that being said," she continued, "We cannot forget how he used to be. He is famous for having always loved a woman who wasn't his own. I just don't want to see you be hurt by him."

Hermione was shocked by this pronouncement, and stood up. "What are you saying?" she asked, her tone dangerous.

The old woman who sat there was thoughtful, and meek. "I don't know," she said, clearly regretting having said anything. "Just... remember that sometimes we can be blind to the failings of people we want to see the best of."

The blood in Hermione's veins boiled, and especially given that this conversation was coming on the heels of her previous anxiety regarding Snape's affections. "You sound like Dumbledore," she said coldly, and Minerva's face changed, became darker. 

"Don't ever say that to me," McGonagall said, her voice tight with anger. "I am not, and never will be, like Albus." 

"Prove it," Hermione said, "because today you haven't convinced me. You're meddling," she said, and as she spoke she was almost surprised at what she was saying. "That's what Dumbledore always did. He always acted mysterious and meddled in everyone's affairs."

Then, in an instant, something else clicked into place. "And what's more," Hermione added, her frustration growing, "did you think you were being clever by putting up a blank wall when I complained about Severus' legilemency incident? Because I don't appreciate not being taken seriously when I confide in someone I trust about something that bothered me." 

McGonagall had the good sense to look abashed at this accusation. 

"Well," Hermione demanded. "Did you, or did you not, purposefully stonewall me?"

"I can't excuse myself," Minerva said, "I truly can't, Hermione. All I can say is, I thought I was acting for the best."

"How reassuring," Hermione said sarcastically, "thanks for your concern." 

"I really didn't want to see him develop a divide from the other staff so early in the school year," McGonagall said weakly. "I knew that if the system moved forward too swiftly to condemn him before he'd had a chance to prove he was different... that no one would see how he had changed." She sighed. "He didn't have to change an awful lot. It only benefited Albus for people to think Severus was evil, chaotic, and malicious. But I knew him better, and I saw him as simply broken. And broken people don't get second chances, not in this cruel world. Not unless we make an effort to give it to them."

Hermione shook her head. "Headmistress, I think you made the wrong decision for the right reasons." 

McGonagall raised her hands, subdued. "Perhaps. Only time will tell."

"Time has told," Hermione said, reluctantly, "that he did apologize for his actions relatively swiftly."

McGonagall looked as though she wanted to be triumphant, her faith in Severus being proven right. But Hermione wouldn't stand for that. "However," Hermione said, "that does not change the fact that you yourself did the wrong thing by not prosecuting him. Even he saw that," Hermione went on, "and he scrubbed cauldrons as penance."

The headmistress looked shocked, until Hermione added, "At his own insistence." 

A silence settled over them, and the mantel clock ticked loudly. 

"I think," Hermione said, breaking the cold quiet, "that you protest too quickly on Severus' behalf. That's clear from this incident. But does this really come from a place of protectiveness for an underdog in whom you have absolute faith," she said, her voice growing frigid, "or is it actually a lack of faith in his own social abilities?"

McGonagall said, tremblingly, "How *dare* you. Of course it comes from a place of faith."

"Really," Hermione said, and she realized she was going too far, but she couldn't stop herself. "Because in this situation, I'm reminded of when my housemate, Gloria, had an owl that had to be put down because it was too savage, too wild. She insisted it was other people that had provoked it. But anyone could see that it was not the case." 

McGonagall stood. "No," she said vehemently, "You don't know what the *hell* you are talking about. You think because you've been dating him for a few weeks that all of a sudden, you know him better than I do? Well, my dear, you *don't.* You never saw how they ganged up on him, in the Order. They made him stand outside in the rain sometimes, and wouldn't let him in. They bullied him day in and day out. And no one did a thing about it. They never tried to protect him or give him advice or support him. They saw him as strategically important, but they wouldn't have invited him to their childrens' weddings when peacetime came. 

"AND YET," she said, in a clear, crisp voice, "He stayed true. Of course after Albus' death, we doubted him - everyone did - but I, I should have known better. Because, Hermione, dear,” McGonagall went on, “I saw him faced with choices that no person should have to live with - choices that would break normal people. Choices that I couldn’t make once, let alone day after day, part of my routine. 

“But Severus - he persevered through it, somehow, and me, I saw him do it. I saw him struggle with the daily effort that he expended just to go on living another day. I prayed to all the gods that he would find a way to stay the course and never break from it. And without a doubt, if I had been him, I would have abandoned hope and drive after years. I was blessed to be a mere supporter in the great drama of this war,” she concluded, “But Severus - he was one of the indispensible players.”

Hermione felt a rush of passion, and realized that she had, in fact, underestimated McGonagall’s desire to do right by Severus. 

“I’m sorry I said those things,” Hermione said gratefully. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t know, child,” McGonagall said, and extended her hand. Hermione took it, feeling a rise of emotions. “I came to tell you.”

“Why?” Hermione asked. “Why do you want me to know this?”

“Because,” the headmistress said with a sigh, sitting again, “he deserves to have everything we can give him, and more. His mind has long been lost to illness the likes of which neither you nor I can imagine. And I firmly believe that this illness, it is the cost that he had to pay to keep us safe.” McGonagall looked defeated. “I only wish the treatment for this illness wasn’t so… dramatic. He’s had a weight on his shoulders all his life metaphorically, it’s dreadful he has to bear it physically in his middle age as well.” 

Hermione felt a pang of concern, and bit her tongue. She didn’t have to ask if McGonagall thought Severus would have, if he could, become the thin and well-exercised man he’d once been. Hermione did wonder if Severus would, in fact, take that choice if it were presented to him. 

“So you want me to be with him,” Hermione said, realizing that this wasn’t McGonagall’s way of trying to convince her that Snape was too dangerous or something for a sweet young thing like her. It was a refreshing realization. 

“Yes,” McGonagall said sadly. “I think it will be good for him. And good for you, too,” she added sympathetically, “but forgive me if I can’t help but think of what might be best for him right now. He’s been sacrificing himself since before you were born.”

“Fair enough,” Hermione said. 

“Moreover,” McGonagall went on, “I came here,” she said, “not to warn you against him, as you seemed to expect when we began this conversation - but to warn you what you're up against. In him, you will see horrors the likes of which you will never see again. He has indeed changed, much more than you can imagine, but also not as much as you think he has. Mostly,” she said, thoughtful, “it’s the circumstances of his world that have changed. And what you see in him is what he could have been, all along.” 

She sighed. “Hermione,” she said, very serious, “There’s not many people that I would entrust with the mission of guarding our poor boy’s heart against the horrors of life. But you are, in fact, up to the task, if you are willing to accept it. You have time to back out, now,” she added, “if that’s what you prefer. I won’t pretend that loving Severus will be anything other than difficult. But it seems like you’ve chosen to do it, and I support you in your choice no matter what. I think it’s only fair to warn you that you should make this decision with the prudence and good sense that you’ve heretofore exhibited with aplomb.” 

Hermione smiled, the flattery getting to her a little bit, but she felt a little offended that Minerva had thought she needed warning. “I will do that.” 

Minerva smiled, a look of confoundment mixed with pleasure on her face. “I’m glad you seem to enjoy each other,” she said, simply. “Before I knew, I thought it would be difficult to convince you to join forces romantically with him, given his physical state. I’m sure if you nudge him, he’ll get himself back in at least some semblance of shape in due time.”

Hermione’s smile was plaster-thin. “I’m sure he would,” she replied. 

At least the headmistress was shrewd enough to pick up on the falseness in Hermione’s voice. “Unless, of course, you prefer him this way?”

Hermione coughed. “I think I’d like to get some more grading done before the hour’s out, headmistress, if you don’t mind.”

McGonagall didn’t need more than one hint. “Of course,” she murmured, and she glanced around the room, as if searching for some clue about Hermione’s predilections. She added, reassuringly, “My uncle was a large man also, and his wife always insisted that he was eating them out of house and home - though it was obvious she enjoyed how he cleaned his plate of her cooking. It’s rare north of Edinburgh, but not as rare as it is in the south. The cold weather is the cause, I expect.” 

“I’m sure,” Hermione said firmly, not willing to engage in this conversation. “Is that all?”

“Almost,” McGonagall said, standing again, and her bones seemed to creak as she eased her bony frame up. “Albus and I always believed that it was our mission to ensure that Severus found someone to love, after the war was over. My reasons were simply that he’d given up his soul to a fantasy, and that he deserved to experience a real kind of happiness for everything he’s done for us. But Albus’ reasons were more sinister, as usual.” She rolled her eyes. “He believed that Severus, if left unattended, could have become the next great dark wizard.” She shook her head. “So if Albus were here, he’d say that this matter was one of national security. Though you and I know, that’s not true.” Minerva shook her head, every year of her life etched in her face grimly. “Albus broke him too well for him to take that kind of initiative.” 

“So lead him, Hermione,” she said, as she went towards the door, “lead him towards happiness. He’s not a leader, he’s a follower, even if he is the noblest of them all. If you tire on the journey ahead of you, you should find a way to replace yourself in his life. But for the moment, while you have the energy, take him and lead him towards something that’s worth having. And let’s pray he never needs to enter battle again.” 

“He won’t,” Hermione said kindly, “He’s said over and over again, he’d never do it again.”

Minerva laughed softly, and this laughter was more meaningful than any response she could have said. 

And then she was gone, leaving Hermione wallowing in her thoughts. 

It occurred to her that she hadn’t heard a response to her patronus yet.

*Shit. I hope he’s all right.* 

She prepared another one and sent it, feeling a sense of dread boiling in her stomach.


	29. ron and fatness, sev kiss

Hermione felt the worry knot in her stomach, but at that moment the floo began to glow, and with a rush, she hurried over to the fireplace. 

It was hard not to appear crestfallen when Ron's face appeared in the ashes. 

"Expecting someone else?" he asked with a bitter laugh. 

"Sorry," Hermione said, "Not that I'm happy to see you! But yes. Rather."

"I'll be quick then," Ron said with a cocky grin, but there was an undertone of painful jealousy that assured Hermione that he hadn't been making his therapy appointments lately. "I know you're busyyyyyy." 

He dragged out the last word with a mixture of taunting and bitterness. 

"No, no rush," Hermione said, taking a deep breath and smiling, trying to focus entirely on her ex-lover's face. "I'm not actually busy right now. How is Rodney?" 

"Fine," Ron said, "I mean, I guess. He's busy too."

Hermione picked up immediately on the rash of anger that Ron was hiding. "Come on" she said, "what do you think is really happening here?"

Ron huffed. "I don't think *anything* is *happening,*" he said, clearly frustrated, "but I do find it strange that, all of a sudden, he's got so much to do with practice that we haven't seen each other in almost a week."

"Almost a week?" Hermione asked. 

Ron nodded, glum and downtrodden. 

"Did anything happen that makes you think..." Hermione tried, but Ron cut her off. 

"Well, obviously something *happened,*" Ron said with a sneer. "The question is, *what?*"

Hermione grimaced. "Well," she said simply, "what evidence do you see that indicates that he's... avoiding you, or whatever." 

Ron looked like he was on the verge of exploding. "What evidence," he said with a tight laugh, "well he's not coming to see me."

"Have you spoken with him recently?" Hermione asked. 

Ron nodded, "Yes, just now. He said he was out grabbing a bite, and he'd be ready to come over later."

"Then what's the problem?" Hermione asked cautiously. "It sounds like you'll be seeing him tonight."

"Yes," Ron said, and his voice began to falter. He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes. "Yes, I suppose so."

"So what are you worked up about?" Hermione said, finding herself chuckling. "You're being incredibly silly, Ron."

This was not always the correct thing to tell Ron, but when it came to romantic sorts of things, she knew she had enough credibility in his mind to criticize him gently like this. 

"I guess so," he responded, and sighed. "I just... I just hate when I feel like he's slipping away, 'Mione." His face was taut and nervous. "I don't want him to leave me because of my family."

"Well," Hermione said with a smile, "I think you'd probably know it if that's what was happening. Don't you think he would talk with you about it? After all, when you started your relationship, I thought he talked up and down about how many times he'd been screwed over in disingenuous relationships where his boyfriends didn't talk to him about problems. And I thought you felt like you guys were both on the same page about that."

"You're right," Ron said, and he looked sufficiently chastened. 

"You should talk to him about these feelings," Hermione said, "even if this seems like it's a bit obvious for me to say this." 

"Bugger," Ron said, looking quite downcast and grounded again. "You're right. I should have done that right off, shouldn't I have?"

"Yes," Hermione said with a reassuring smile. "But better now than later, I imagine."

"I guess so," Ron said, and took a deep breath. "I'll talk to him when I see him later." 

"Right," Hermione said, "You do that. So how are your parents?"

"They're all right," Ron said, sounding nervous again. "I... I told da' I want to talk to him about something, and he's been putting me off. Says he's too worked up about things at the ministry to put some time aside. I told him it's important, and he said he'll let me know when he has a moment. But I don't like waiting." Ron squirmed. "It-"

Ron was interrupted by a knock at the door. 

Hermione's heart fluttered from her chest into her face, and it certainly did not go unremarked by Ron. 

"You've been waiting for that," Ron said, as Hermione pushed her hair back and pulled at a stray curl. "Well, go on then."

"Don't go," Hermione said, and Ron groaned. She wasn't sure why she said that; ironically, while she was talking to Ron about conveying his feelings to Rodney, she didn't quite feel ready to talk with Severus about what happened. If it was indeed him at the door. 

So she got up and went to answer it, her stomach knotting even though she knew, rationally, she had nothing really to worry about. 

To her immense relief, Snape was standing at the door, two patronuses at his heel. 

"These..." he said softly, and stopped. Then started again. "They found me," he said with a curious smile. "I was coming anyway." 

"Good," Hermione said, and put out her hand. "I'm glad." 

He took it, a blank expression on his face, but there was a hint of awe in it. "You're wondrous," he said, in a very low whisper, barely audible to her ears, "And I'm sorry I'm such a stubborn old fool." 

"Don't worry," Hermione said, "I needed to get my head in line. You haven't done anything wrong, not at all. I should have been more empathetic." 

"Then... then we're all right?" he asked in a whisper, and his eyes tracked to the side, noticing Ron Weasley's head in the fire. Since the fire was the only light in the dim room, they were both draped in shadows as they stood at the doorway. He brought his eyes back to focus on hers again quickly, and their gaze was steady.

"Of course," Hermione said with a quiet voice, and clasped his hands warmly. "You're wonderful. And if we're ever *not* all right, it will certainly be far less ambiguous."

Severus processed this. "If you say so," he murmured, and proceeded to grab her with one hand at her waist, making her gasp involuntarily, and he brought her close to him, where he smothered her mouth in a fierce, decadent kiss. 

"Erm, 'Mione?" called Ron from the floo. "You all right? Where'd you go?"

"I'm sorry, hon," Hermione called, and then, privately to Severus, she said, "And I'm sorry to you - I'll be done with Ron soon enough."

"When you are," Severus rumbled, not bothering to keep his voice low, "please, come to my chambers." Their eyes locked, and he added, less loudly, "We'll have dinner."

Hermione broke away from him slowly, her hand trailing down his buttons until she got to a nice juicy love-handle, and she squeezed him there. "I'll be there as soon as I finish my grading. I want all of Sunday free." 

"Fine," Severus said, and returning the touch, he squeezed both of her arse-cheeks, which made her nearly squeal with desire. "Eight?"

"Eight's fine," Hermione said. 

He pulled her close again for a seductive, lingering kiss, and then he patted her rear and added, "Also, I came for my computer." 

"Oh," Hermione said with a laugh. "Well, it's there on the table. Help yourself."

"I shall," he said, and he entered the dark room. Hermione went back to the floo. 

"Sorry, Ron," she said again, "so your father's avoiding you, and you were about to say something about that."

"Erm," Ron said, clearly holding back a thousand questions, "yeah. Of course mum is bothering me a great deal too, it seems like whatever da' thinks is happening, she didn't get the memo, because she's constantly trying to set me up with girls. I've been telling her... erm..."

Ron ran completely out of bluffing juice as Severus approached Hermione as she sat there on the hearth's carpet, carrying his laptop under his arm, kissed her sweetly on the cheek, and left without a word, his tread remarkably light on the wooden floor; no boards squeaked at all. The door closed audibly behind him, and Hermione blushed red. She'd been *very* effectively marked, even if Ron had missed all the happenings they'd had in the dark entry of the flat. 

"What was that?" Ron asked, his face completely aghast. "I mean... 'Mione! I... I..." 

Hermione burst out with giddy giggling. "I'm sorry, Ron," she gasped, "your face." 

For indeed, his face was comically overcome with bewilderment, his mouth moving in expressive variations of amazement, bewilderment, and horror. 

"I... I don't even know, 'Mione," Ron said, and took a deep stabilizing breath. "Have you completely gone bonkers?" 

"A bit," Hermione admitted, feeling awash with relief that Severus wasn't ignoring her. "I mean. Not in a bad way, I think."

"Bad?" Ron echoed, and nearly yelled, "Bad? No, 'Mione, I don't think you know what that word means. Bad is falling for a slimy git like Severus Snape. What's happening here is goddamn *awful.* It's *horrific!* What the *hell* kind of potion did he slip you?" 

"Why," Hermione asked, perversely enjoying Ron's blockheaded subbornness right now. "Why do you think he's slipping me a potion?"

"Because he's a potions master," declared Ron, "and a slimy git, and HERMIONE I AM LEGITIMATELY CONCERNED THAT YOU HAVE GONE BLIND! At least I could *understand* your attraction before, since he was tall, dark, and in a gothic way sort-of handsome (albeit disgusting), but now? God, 'Mione, this is sick!"

Hermione was well prepared for this kind of backlash from the highly fat-phobic Ron. She also didn't quite know what to do with it. But she was looking forward to being challenged by this particular variety of blockheadedness. "You really don't remember, Ron, those times I tried to put you off dieting after you put on a little holiday pudge?"

"I..." Ron took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. "I remember, of course; we talked it to death. And you said you were fine watching me grow a little tum during the off-season. That's... that's different though. I had no idea it was... like this!" Ron's eyes blazed with realization. "Is that what you would have wanted for *me,* 'Mione? Just to get... so fat and blubbery I can't even fly?"

"For the record, he *can* fly," Hermione said, "and what's more, he's no bigger than some of your Beater teammates. Honestly, you should watch your exaggeration, Ron."

"No exaggeration's needed in this case!" Ron exclaimed, slamming his hand in the ash. "He's no athlete! Do you even *look* at him, 'Mione? He's *enormous!* And no muscle to speak of, he carries at least half his weight in that massive gut! Why, he's nearly as big as *Slughorn!* Would you go out with *Slughorn,* 'Mione?"

She shrugged. "Maybe, if he weren't such an attention-seeking sycophantic arse, and three or four times my age." 

"HOW IS THAT ANY DIFFERENT THAN SNAPE?" Ron roared. "Really, 'Mione! I'm genuinely concerned that you have been jinxed or hexed or something." 

"Well," Hermione said with a smirk, "Don't be. I'm enjoying my time with Severus, Ron."

"YOU CALL HIM SEVERUS?" shrieked Ron. "I can't believe this, 'Mione! Have you told Harry about this yet?"

Hermione shook her head, feeling a little deflated at the mention of Harry. "No, I haven't spoken with him for months now." 

Ron raised his fists in the air. "With my luck, Harry'll just be all affirming, 'Oh, I'm so glad you can make him happy, 'Mione,' you know that's what he'd say." 

"I know it," Hermione responded, "So Ron, what would it cost you to be just a little bit more kind to me than Harry would be about this?"

"Kind?" Ron demanded, "I'm being kind! I really am! I'm actually concerned about your bloody welfare is what I'm being kind about!"

"Well," Hermione said, "I know your heart is in the right place, darling, but you see, you just don't get to tell me who is allowed in my life. We've talked about this." 

"I know I don't," Ron said, sighing and winding down his anger. "But... but 'Mione, he's fucking *enormous.*"

"I like that," Hermione said with a grin. "More to love." 

"Seriously?" Ron demanded with a huff. "Really?"

"You know, Ron," Hermione said, "you've got to accept this eventually." 

"Accept it?" Ron replied, "You're telling me that this is just the way it is? That I shouldn't be concerned that you've been drugged?" 

"No one's being drugged, Ron," Hermione said, grinning ear to ear. There was something comforting about his outrage, something that felt... hmmm... it felt like he was manufacturing it out of a desire to express affection for her, and care. Maybe it was her imagining things, but she could already feel the wind come out of Ron's sails. 

"Well, I know *I'm* not," Ron replied, "Not so sure about you." But he seemed to be settling down into a comfortable grumpiness about the matter already. "Would you *really* have been more into me, 'Mione, if I got as big as he is?"

"Perhaps?" Hermione said with a snicker. "Not that it would have helped us all that much, Ron. I mean, given I'm the wrong gender for you and all."

"Well," Ron said, considering, "It wouldn't be so bad a life, I guess. Just feed me up all day and all night. I'd be content with that. Just getting fatter every day. Sounds nice, actually." 

He began to grin, as a fantasy started to emerge in his mind. "My mum would certainly approve, provided it's your cooking that's doing the fattening. Nothing better than for a husband to get fat on his doting wife's affection. She might even forget to ask us about grandbabies, if I look like I'm about to be popping them out any minute." 

He paused. "Would you consider it, if I retired from playing? Rodney could be our 'roommate,' and you and I could 'get back together,' and you could fuck Snape on weekends?"

Hermione laughed outright. She was surprised how easily he came around to supporting her. "There, you see?" she exclaimed, "you understand it. You do. So I won't hear another word about it from you, you silly."

"Fine," Ron said, pouting beautifully. "But know, 'Mione, if he so much as breathes on you the wrong way, well, he's a dead man." 

Hermione smiled gratefully. This conversation had gone *much* better than she could have ever hoped for. "Thank you, Ron," she said, taking a nice deep breath, "You're wonderful."

"And oh," Ron said, smirking a little bit on his part. "Is *this* why you've been going and pudging up yourself? Does he have a thing for you being 'a little more to love'?"

"A little bit," Hermione said with a small self-conscious smile. "I'm just naturally getting bigger, my life being as sedentary as it is... but he has been helping a bit." 

"Cripes," Ron said, shaking his head. "If you aren't as big as he is come Christmas, I'll eat a bludger." 

"I don't think it'll be *that* bad, Ron," Hermione said with a laugh, even though her face was getting hot as she thought about it. Could she *really* weigh almost twice her current weight in the next two months? No, she thought to herself, that would be impossible.

But... Severus did have those potions... and they hadn't even tried them all... 

Her cunt was definitely tight with desire, and her breathing became more shallow. If she weighed 324 pounds come December 25th... oh hell... oh my...

Ron waved at her, and brought her out of her brief moment of daydreaming. "Earth to 'Mione," he said, using one of her favorite Muggle expressions, "You aren't getting all hot and bothered at the very idea, are you?"

She shook her head no, but her blush said very clearly, *yes.* 

"Hell," Ron said, "I didn't mean to give you a new sex fantasy. Dammit." He shook his head. "All right, 'Mione," he said with an eyeroll and a stupefying grin, "I'm going to be seeing Rodney soon. You go run off to his *chambers,* and have yourself some delicious sex, why don't you." 

He rang off, and the fire went back to its usual state. 

Hermione, for her own part, ran to the bathroom as soon as his face disappeared from the flames, and she decided to cast the weight charm on herself. 

But before she did, she thought a few moments about how she might change it. 

Her spellwork was beautiful, as it almost always was, and instead of the bone-thin witch staring incredulously at her when she cast it, a delightful and plump Helga-Hufflepuff-type beamed back at her to read her total. 

"A hundred and seventy three," proclaimed the charm encouragingly. "Really, Hermione, wonderful job. Last we measured, you were at a hundred and sixty five. That's eight loveable pounds in just nine days. Almost a pound a day! Of course, there's fluctuation to do with water weight and all that, so you have to consider that..."

But Hermione wasn't listening at this point, instead sinking down on the lid of the closed toilet and, as she did so, looking down at her beautiful growing belly. "Today is October 13th. A hundred and fifty one pounds in seventy-three days. That's over two pounds a day. Can I *really* put on that much so quickly?" 

"It's possible, dearie," said the witch with a smile. "But only if you eat practically nonstop, and every single day, you must eat just a little bit more than you can comfortably fit in your belly. You'll need to push yourself." The charm gave Hermione a look that was practically wicked. "But, I think with the help you'll get from your boyfriend, you won't have much trouble." The witch paused. "That's what you young folks are calling each other these days, right? Boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"That's right," Hermione said with a grin. "Oh god." She stood up, feeling wet and weak in the knees. "Thanks, Cozy." 

"No problem at all, sweetheart," the witch said with good humor, "Now go back to that nice plump hunk of a man and get yourself fueled up. You've got a long way to go in very little time!" 

............  
Hi folks! I love love love love love love love when you review, especially when you tell me what you like about each chapter. It really helps to keep me going! The denouement of this story *is* in sight, I think, though honestly I could probably write this story forever. (I won't, I don't think, but hey, it would be awesome to get this to a million words!!! That would take forever but it would be awesome!) 

There's a lot of updates today because I had a lot of free time and have been inzpired. But here's a quick survey - would you prefer that I post one chapter reliably a week, or just post chapters as soon as I write them? I struggle with posting regularly because I have poor impulse control but with social impetus I'd be able to do it better. So would it dramatically increase your experience as a reader to see updates regularly on, for example, Sunday evenings (EST)? Or should I continue to post as I complete things?


	30. sev mania, erika visit impending

hgss 30 

She headed to Severus’ rooms, and he looked truly lonesome. He was in the bedroom, sitting against the headboard, curled up in the cutest way with a mug of tea at hand, glasses perched on his high nose, and his computer on a side-table that extended its arm over the bed. It was heartbreaking the way he perked up when she came in, even though his momentary joy was covered up as fog began to fill his eyes. His gaze went back to the computer screen, looking chastened. 

“Hey,” she murmured, shyly, and he nodded, not looking at her. She felt concern constrict her throat; there was something weary in his expression, even though he seemed like he was trying to be warm. 

She gently propped herself up on the edge of her bed with her elbows and surveyed him. “Why do *you* look guilty?” she asked, feeling the words come out a little more forcefully than she intended. “I’m the one who was wrong, wasn’t I?”

“I suppose,” Severus said, but he clearly was not convinced. 

“Well,” Hermione said, “how about we talk about about your control complex? Not everything that causes you pain is your fault.” 

“No,” he conceded, bitterly, and she sensed that she was on progressively thin ice. “but that’s what I’ve been trained to believe, nonetheless.” 

“You must know it’s rubbish,” she responded affirmatively. “You’re no more at fault for other people than other people are at fault for you.” 

He seemed to take heed of her words, but after a brief moment of contemplating this reality, he seemed to find it too much of an effort to think about, and he pulled the comforter up over him tighter. His big tummy created a comfortable-looking hill under the duvet. 

“No,” he acknowledged. He sounded like he wanted to believe in the words she said, but knew it was far outside the realm of possibilities he could reach. It was like seeing someone trapped in a glass bottle, being told for the hundredth time that life outside of the glass bottle was just peachy, and if only he could get out of the bottle, he would be happy. 

“I apologize,” he added, not looking away from his computer, “for not responding to your patroni in kind.” 

“It’s all right,” Hermione said. “Is there a particular reason you didn’t?”

He stared vacantly across the room towards the door, absorbed in his own painful thoughts, self-loathing etched in his face. The fingers of his right hand wormed their way under the blanket and seemed to rub at his love-handle. The comforter fell a little bit, revealing where his shirt had accidentally folded over itself as he sat in bed. It peeled back over his skin, revealing a comfortable-looking bulge of porcelain skin, which he grabbed and pinched between vicious fingers. 

Out of concern, Hermione’s own fingers inserted themselves between his, preventing him from pinching himself, and he looked at her with a startled flash of alarm. 

He took a deep breath and, thusly preparing himself, saved his screen and shut the computer with a snap. 

“So, I have a request,” he said, “and please know that this is not as highly significant as it might sound, but is, in fact, just a request. We don’t need to talk about it.”

Hermione nodded. “Let’s have it,” she responded, trying to appear as affirming and responsive as she could be. 

He sighed and leaned back on the headboard, staring at the ceiling. “I… would like if, barring major emergencies, you would… find an alternative to sending me patroni… I don’t want to explain.” 

She, of course, could intuit there was something happening here, and it took her a full minute of thinking to get an idea of what it might be. 

“Is it… because your patronus reminds me of *her*?” she asked softly, “I mean… at worst, it’s inconvenient, but of course if it hurts you because of the association, I understand.”

“It’s not *just,* that,” Snape said, a growl rising in his voice. Hermione put a hand on his tense shoulder and rubbed it. He added, teeth gritted, still staring straight up, “It’s much *worse.*” 

Hermione, for her part, began to notice the smell of burning, and she looked up - the spot on the ceiling where Snape was staring was starting to fizz with red sparks, like ants dancing on a smooth white desert plain. 

“Hey,” she whispered, trying to be comforting, “hey.” 

Her touch and warmth seemed to have no impact on his pain, but he at least seemed to tolerate her touching him. “I can’t even say it,” he spat, his face fierce. Then, he summoned self-control with a deep exhale, and he closed his eyes. 

Then he opened them again, and he let out a painful laugh that was clearly forced. 

“Hah. All right. Forgive my moment of weakness.” 

He unpeeled himself from her, landing a kiss on the surprised woman’s face, and he got up with practically a bounce, brushing down the corner of his shirt that had ridden up. “Have you had dinner?” he asked, and Hermione shook her head. “Good,” he said, “Let’s do that.” 

Hermione followed him to the table, somewhat bewildered at the sudden change in mood. 

“Erm,” she said, as he clapped for a house-elf, “Severus? Are you all right?”

“Certainly,” he said, sounding almost chipper. “Are you?”

Hermione squinted at him, suspicious, but sat down with him at the table. As he took off his glasses and laid them on the table, she was so confused that she didn’t even pay attention to what Severus ordered for himself. It seemed like he barely said anything to Minty, the elf that had quietly replaced Lowly as their regular servant. But no matter. Hermione ordered herself some decadent dishes, not feeling quite peckish herself, but knowing that once she started eating she’d get hungrier. Then she settled back in her chair for the moment, surveying her lover with worried eyes. 

He seemed to be doing everything but making eye contact with her. Soon, the elf was gone, Severus began talking blithely about the invitations to the conference, and got out his computer again in order to recite, in alphabetical order, the individuals who they were inviting as guest speakers, the periodicals in which they’d advertised the conference, and the names of those who had registered. 

“We have confirmed Ronan Gros for a presentation about dill’s anti-prophegenic properties,” Severus said, casting glances at her as he went, but never quite meeting her eyes. “And for the requisite presentation on the Ned’s Welt flower, the Norwegian who’s been publishing papers on it for seventeen years at this point, Mia Sorenssen. That covers all of the herbal essences, presuming all of them accept the invitation. Overall, I think we have a decent balance of genders presenting, despite everything.” He clicked from screen to screen with the ease of a graceful swimmer, never stopping for a beat.

Hermione felt herself relaxing into his banter, despite her worry. “What about people of color?”

He paused. “Let’s see,” he said, scratching on a piece of paper. There was an energy in him that she hadn’t seen before in their relationship; even in his very penstrokes, he seemed to be hustling with a sense of urgency. 

“Not well balanced at all,” he admitted after a few moments of silence. “I suppose we could reach out to more of the Americans on the list.” 

She nodded, and watched as he did some careful copy-pasting into emails. He glanced back at her between his rapid keystrokes, reflecting an intense intimacy, and she smiled feebly in response. This seemed to be enough.

He was garrulous and effortless, and appeared like he was entirely in control of himself and the situation around him. It was pleasurable in some ways to see him like this, because it reminded her a lot of how he presented in class - but instead where his laser focus had once been on preventing cauldrons from blowing up, he was intent on completing this task ahead of him. 

If this change of mood hadn’t been so sudden, and so out of character with his mood recently, Hermione would have enjoyed seeing him a little less depressed. As it was, however, it made Hermione feel chills down her spine. 

He’d sent ten emails by the time their dinner arrived, and he showed no signs of stopping. 

“You’ve done a lot,” Hermione cajoled him as she looked at what was on the table. There didn’t seem to be nearly enough. All the elf had left at Severus’ plate was an anemic bowl of lettuce with vinegar as the only dressing, desperately trying to reassure the lonesome pork chop next to it. “Come, let’s pause for a while.” 

“No, no, I’m fine,” he said, a bite in his voice. “Let me finish this.”

Hermione felt like her fork was heavy - too much so to eat anything. Severus, as it happened, wasn’t eating anything either. 

Finally, after trying and failing to eat for several minutes, and watching Severus click and type with such hurry, she pushed his plate towards him. “Come,” she murmured, “let’s not get carried away.”

“I’m not,” he said, and his eyes shot a glare at her before going back to what they were doing. 

“It’s not that important,” she said, feeling an intense anxiety mount in her body. But she swallowed it, and tried to keep it out of her voice. “It’s really not.” 

He proceeded to actively ignore her, which made Hermione unsure of what to do. Out of a desire to get his attention, her hand moved towards his plate, hesitated, then grasped the pork chop by the bone. 

Then she picked it up and put it to her lips, experimentally, watching Severus the whole time. 

He didn’t look at her, but as she hesitated, he said with a shrug, “Go ahead and have it, if you want.” 

She gently put the meat down on the plate again. This was not good. 

“Hey,” she said, taking a deep breath, “when you get done, let’s talk a bit about what’s happening right now, okay?”

He shrugged. “Nothing’s happening. Just let me finish.”

So they sat there for almost twenty minutes, Hermione half-heartedly eating her own food, watching Severus’ efforts with bated breath. 

The room was silent other than the sound of his fingers on the keyboard, until the sound of Severus’ phone rang. Both Severus and Hermione them visibly jumped in their own skins.

“A moment,” he said, standing up to answer his phone, heaving his body out of the chair and rising to pace the living room rug. He flung it open with a practiced air. “Hello?” 

His body visibly tensed, as he crossed his free arm over his chest, his posture shrinking into a slump. “Yes, yes, yes. Completely better, yes. Yes. No trouble. I… thank you, my dear. All right. As I said before, those dates do work. Text me details as you have them. I love you, too.” 

His vigorous new energy seemed to deflate even more as he flipped his phone shut, and Hermione could see that he felt self-conscious about having this conversation in front of her. Embarrassed, even.

“I may as well tell you,” he said, approaching the table again and putting a hand on top of his chair, “that Erika and Jean-Raoul are coming to visit in a few weeks.”

Hermione felt an immense rush of relief. At least here was a potential reason for his erratic behavior. 

She waited for him to say something, but he looked at her expectantly. His stomach chose that moment to announce itself, and, mortified, he drew his robes more tightly around him, doing a decent job of disguising his tummy bulge. 

“All right,” she said at last, resting her hands in her lap, “how do you feel about that?”

He glanced away from her, then met her eyes, and for the first time since she’d come in she felt like she recognized him.

“Suboptimal.” 

And then all at once, he seemed to revert back five years, a haunted look entering his face. 

She couldn’t help but be startled, since, in his pain and vulnerability, she was reminded of the look on his face that he’d had when he was in the Shrieking Shack, dying on the floor. 

“You’re not excited about seeing her again,” Hermione said, her voice soft. They were making progress, even if she had to be intensely careful how she stepped. He wasn’t pretending away his panic anymore, and it had given way to despair. 

“What do *you* bloody think?” he snarled, and, as though immediately regretting it, he leaned against the back of the chair and hid his face in his hand. “I’m sorry,” he murmured after becoming more composed. “I… I can’t let myself be a miserable git to you.” 

“No,” Hermione said, “but don’t let that make you feel worse, this particular moment.” 

She patted the seat of his chair. “Come here. Really.” 

Shaken, he did obey her, and he practically curled into his chair. Awkwardly, of course, given his size. He tried to tuck his legs beneath him, though had a lack of success in this because of the thickness of his thighs. “I’m not… I’m…” he tried to say, and she offered him her hand. He took it, his eyes bright with self-hating tears, but he wasn’t crying. 

“So,” Hermione said, as he faltered again. “First, you’re going to eat something. McGonagall could practically hear your stomach from her chambers, the rate you’re going.” 

He appeared grim, but said nothing, and made no objection as she stroked his hair. It was a painful thing to watch, the way he almost winced under her fingers. She could tell he wasn't as comfortable as she wished he could be. 

She then guided the fork into his hand, squeezing his soft palm in a comforting way, and he began to thrust it at the salad haphazardly. 

“Come on,” she murmured, “ten mouthfuls.” 

It took an age for him to do the first one. Hermione just patiently waited until he had successfully stabbed a quantity of lettuce and put it in his mouth. He barely chewed, and swallowed almost immediately. 

“Good,” she murmured comfortingly, “that’s the way.” 

The rest were no less painful to watch, as he seemed to engage in an internal tug of war every time. 

Finally, he’d gotten through the required number, and he even picked up the porkchop, though he looked defeated as he ate it, as if he begrudged every morsel. 

But at least this satisfied Hermione. “When you’re ready,” she said, “I’d love to know what you’re thinking. For what it’s worth, I'm looking forward to meeting Erika," she said hopefully.

"I am too," Severus said, not noticing the grammatical inconsistency. Instead, there was something else in his voice.

Hermione just waited. Severus glanced at her, and she nodded at him, encouraging him to speak further. He swallowed. "I... I am different with her than I've been with any other person ever in the world," he said softly. "I think you could tell."

Hermione nodded, listening, though she could not confirm anything other than that his physical depression was exacerbated by the call. "Different in what ways?" she asked, permissively.

Snape looked miserable. "I... I'm not sure exactly. It's not like I make jokes or such around her... But I'm lighter when I speak with her. I speak with her in a way I dare not at Hogwarts. There is a lack of… cultural history, I suppose… between us. I... She makes me forget," he said, stumblingly. "I don't have to put on an impenetrable facade. I don't have years of reputation as a slimy git working against my favor with her. And..."

He seemed to realize something, and had to fight it from stopping midway out of his mouth. Hermione tilted her head sweetly, trying to solicit his thoughts, feeling a curious type of intimacy.

How strange it was to speak with her man about how he felt about another woman. It filled her with a mix of emotions she didn't easily understand.

It was similar to how she'd felt when Ron had gushed about the way a teammate's arse looked on a broomstick, and that conversation had ended with tears. His, mostly, but as Hermione remembered the echoes of that ominous conversation years ago, she remembered she had cried, too.

-(It's not as though I'm into blokes or anything, but I just want to grab that thing and shove myself into it, you know? 

-Erm, darling, that's exactly what being into blokes sounds like. 

-No it isn't, it's just... Friendly roughhousing. 

-Tell that to the men at the kink bar up the street.)

Presently, Snape managed to find his words. He looked reluctant, but strangely brave.

"I think she would be... ashamed... if she knew what people think of me here."

Hermione's heart melted, and she began to feel her eyes get wet. 

He did love Erika, even if he did love Hermione too. But Hermione did fear that Snape's love of Erika might be a completely different kind of love in Snape's heart, and that Erika filled a hole formed in the image of Lily.

Whereas his love of Hermione was nowhere near the kind of love Hermione and he shared. Hermione realized that while she knew that he loved her, and she loved him, she didn't feel like she was in some kind of romance novel. There wasn't that deep and intense passion driving their relationship that she saw . Part of this, she realized, was because his love of her was requited. If it wasn't, chances are his way of relating to her would be completely different.

"I understand," she said, and even though they both knew she didn't, not one whit. But he didn't argue.

Instead, he sighed, seeming bewildered and slightly defeated. "I suppose I'm not thrilled about her coming *now*, at any rate."

"That's understandable," Hermione said, convincing herself that tears were exactly the opposite of what was a good idea right that moment. For some reason the voice of McGonagall coming back to her mind.

"He was left out in the rain sometimes... He would never be invited to their weddings in peacetime..."

She felt a shiver of sadness. 

Severus seemed to be feeling the same, marinating in his own sadness, but it didn’t seem to be sad enough for him. “Understandable, yes. That’s an understatement,” he said, and he scooped up his hanging belly into his arm and cradled it. “I’ve become monstrous.” 

He proceeded to let go of his excess flesh, and he toppled over slightly, and placed his head on her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. "Are you okay?" She asked, desperately hoping he could reassure her.

"No," he said, after several long moments. His voice was tight, and Hermione rubbed the back of his shoulders.

"That's all right," she said, feeling weirdly confident. "It's all fine."

He proceeded to weep silently. It was the eeriest thing, Hermione realized, to see such a strong fortress of a man keeled over, seeking comfort in her arms. He was clearly in a lot of pain, and she didn't know how to respond to it other than to try and comfort him. She felt both confident and helpless, her breaths even and slow to try and balance his own jagged inhalations, but also knowing that this was really the limit of what she could do.

"Forgive me," he murmured after some silent moments, "I am such an old fool."

"That's not true," Hermione said warmly, her Gryffindor spirit rising in her heart. "You aren't old, and you aren't a fool. You've... You've been broken, intentionally, is what's happened." She thought back to McGonagall's words, "Albus would say this was a matter of national security..."

Severus seemed to grow very small in her arms, his body withdrawing into itself. "That's not true," he nearly whimpered. "I've always been broken."

Hermione knew better than to press this point. She sadly stroked Severus' hair and held him just a little bit tighter.

Finally, Severus managed to reallocate his emotional resources, and he sat up, banishing his tears almost unnaturally. "I don't want to look this way for Erika," he said firmly. "She hasn't seen me in a long while, and I've gained nearly four stone since I last saw her in person."

"I see," Hermione said with a sigh of relief. “So that’s why you’ve been… not all right this evening.” 

“That,” he said, with a murmur, “and the other thing. With the patroni.” 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Hermione asked, her hand wrapping around his. 

He grimaced. “Would it be completely crushing if I didn’t want to talk about it?”

Hermione paused and thought very hard. “Two things,” she said. “First, it seems to continue to be hurting you. Second, this is the second time you’ve brought it up. I’m wondering if you’re hoping I will press you into telling me, because you feel embarrassed but you actually want to tell me. The other option, of course, is that you’re genuinely in pain and feel that it’s going to make your pain worse to tell me. If you are in pain, and you think you will feel better for telling me, then by all means, let’s have out with it then.”

Severus laughed darkly. “Hermione, the world would have been in the worst trouble had you been the Dark Lord.” 

Hermione took this as a compliment, though an odd one. “Well, fortunately, you’re not servant to a dark lord anymore,” she said with as much pleasantness as she could muster, “and fortunately, I’m not and have never been a dark lord, and even more fortunately, I am really concerned about your well-being, and I don’t have time for Slytherin mindgames, thanks very much. So which is it - do you need to talk about it, but are reluctant to, or do you genuinely need to sort it out on your own?”

He seemed uncommonly pleased by this response. “I see that, in fact, you are pressuring me. In a very Slytherin way, as it happens. But no matter, you’re close to the truth when you ask me if I *need* to talk about it. Though *wanting* to talk about it is out of the question.” 

Severus then took a deep breath. “I can’t,” he breathed out, “I can’t cast one anymore.” 

Hermione’s brain buzzed, but she kept quiet for a moment. “Why not, do you think?” she asked, as she realized he was waiting for her. 

“I don’t quite know,” he said, “I expect it has something to do with the neurotransmitters. I didn’t even notice for a long time after I started medications. I’ve talked about it extensively with Erika, who has taken quite an interest in the problem, but suffice it to say, I cannot cast a patronus of any kind.” 

“I’m so sorry,” she replied, feeling the intensity of his sadness resonate through her. “That’s terrible.” 

He didn’t respond, and looked away instead. 

“I… I hope you don’t think that you’re a bad person, or like there’s no hope for you to be happy, or something because of this,” Hermione went on, “I certainly don’t think so.”

“All right,” said Severus, shaking his head, “let’s talk about something else.” 

“I hear you,” Hermione responded. “But please know that I don’t think less of you for it. There must be hundreds of people in history who couldn’t cast a patronus. It’s just one spell.” 

He cast her a baleful look that implied, *shut up, shut up, shut up!* so she did so, with great restraint. 

She obeyed, for once, and they sat there in silence until Severus took a deep breath and gestured to Hermione. 

“I was being ridiculous,” he said, brushing his hands over his face. “And being hungry doesn’t help anything. Can I have some of your pudding?”

“Please,” Hermione said with a bright smile. 

As he served himself from the tin in front of her, she hoped that he wouldn’t notice her hands shaking with the final release of the tension that had been in the room.


	31. mania explanation, don't want to die

Despite her efforts to hide them, she wished he would notice her shaking hands. She wanted to be comforted, but was far too embarrassed to ask. 

He didn't notice at all, actually, and it stung, particularly coming on the heels of her thoughts regarding how he seemed to feel about Erika. Hermione was certain he would notice *her* hands shaking at the dinner table, even if she tried to hide them. 

But given her pragmatic attitude, she tried to feel all right. 

She was cheered by the fact that Severus seemed to have abandoned all his former hesitancy, and had taken the pudding tin into his hands and was directly eating out of it. He was focused on this, and it was adorable, and she tried to forget everything else. His cheeks were chubby, his belly was filling out nicely as he ate bite after bite, four servings of pudding already disappeared inside him without pause, supplemented by copious glasses of milk. 

"Are you going to finish that?" Hermione asked, taking a deep stabilizing breath. She definitely was enjoying the view, and her own pain was easing as she watched him eat. 

"It's practically gone as it is," he confirmed, scraping out the remaining treacle crumbs. 

"And I thought you were trying to be moderate," Hermione teased gently. 

He looked at her with a cool, dispassionate glare, which wasn't really all that harsh. 

"A fool's errand," he responded, "particularly given recent evidence that demonstrates my mood's stability depends on my intake being unrestricted." 

"A quick turnaround," Hermione said, "but no matter. The main thing is, you're feeling better?" 

He put the empty tin on the table and passed a tongue over his lips thoughtfully. 

"...no," he answered, after significant deliberation. "I am better able to cope with my discomfort, now, but no, I do not actually feel better." 

Hermione moved her chair closer to his, and laid a hand on his own. She wasn't shaking any more, and she felt more in control of herself. 

"I'm sorry," she said, "I wish you did feel better." 

He looked at her with a kind of sadly amused appreciation, charmed by her efforts to make him feel better despite their futility. 

"Myself as well," he murmured. 

Hermione's hand gripped him a little harder, and inched its way up his arm, where she grasped him tighter at the base of his fleshy upper arm, the one closest to her. He responded by putting his other hand in her lap, where his thumb slowly traced the outline of her navel through her clothes, gently caressing the rim of her blossoming belly. It was an electric sort of feeling, and she could feel his energy changing as they touched each other.

But they did not move for many minutes, instead feeling each other physically. Hermione, for her own part, was feeling herself emotionally. 

She'd been scared for a good part of the earlier evening. Scared of what, she wasn't entirely sure she could name, but Severus had behaved strangely, and she had been terrified of this being a new normal. She had already struggled to adapt to his depression, and she wasn't sure if she could adjust to... Whatever it was that had been. She'd actually forgotten that he could be so irritable, so uncaring. And the only reason that he'd been able to snap out of it was because Erika called him. 

But, she reasoned, wasn't Erika the reason he started acting that way in the first place? 

She was interrupted from thinking more about this by Severus' saying, "I apologize for earlier. Sometimes my own behavior gets the best of me." 

She cast a look at him that was partly kind, mostly serious. 

"You've never been like that before," she said. "Is this part of your...bipolar?"

"Perhaps?" He responded, and touched her shoulder, his long but pudgy fingers massaging it. She loved the feel of how he touched her. "You might be right. I can't always tell when mania sets in, while depression hits me like a bludger." 

"is that what mania looks like?" she asked, perplexed. 

"I don't know," he answered, though his voice was getting stony-edged again. "It's easier for me to remember what it looked like at its worst than to remember anything else about it. It's likely, come to think of it. But medication helps it from taking root in me for days, the way it used to. Let's move on, shall we?"

"No," said Hermione, and she started to feel herself shaking again. "No, we've got to talk about this. We can't just pretend it away."

"It's not pretending," Severus said, and there was that same unkind fierce defensiveness in his voice, and Hermione felt herself slip momentarily into the eyes of an eleven year old girl with painfully long teeth, and the pain and despair began to set in. 

Her face paled as his eyes bore into hers, penetrating and scornful....then suddenly he back-tracked, and she felt herself return to her present with only an echo of the feelings to remind her of what had happened. It always hit her hard when she remembered they’d once had a student-teacher relationship, and the smallest things could make memories come back to her in a wave of nauseating emotions. Especially of that incident with the teeth. 

"No," he revised, more quietly. "I must check myself. This is me trying to hold myself together, and regretfully failing."

He stood up with a wince, then, upon thinking again, sat down once more. 

"Mania," he said, biting his tongue for a moment as he grouped his thoughts, "for me, was never really euphoria. They say that's atypical. I don't give a shit about what is or isn't, you understand, but it bears noting. When I was in a manic state, I could go days without sleep and not feel a thing. They say that's very typical." 

He grimaced. "Dumbledore liked these periods for that reason alone. I had a great deal of energy, though I was always very argumentative with him during these times. I think he enjoyed it, kept him on his toes. And when I lost my temper with him, he thought it meant I was able to keep it better leashed with the dark lord." 

A bitter smile. "He was right about that, but not for the reasons he thought."

He gazed into the distance for a moment, reflective. Hermione thought about Snape the insomniac, raging around the castle for hours and never sleeping. It occurred to her that she'd never thought about why running into Snape in the late night was a likelihood, and not just a possibility. It put quite a different tone on the exploits she had shared with Harry over the years.

As if reading her mind, Severus added, "Come to think of it, many of our arguments - between myself and Dumbledore - were about Potter."

Hermione felt her heart twinge with pain at not having talked to Harry in so long. She should floo him, maybe this week. 

"Sounds really distressing," she said, and he nodded.

His face was drawn as he further reminisced, "The mania usually ended in terror - usually I believed that I had been found out. I would hear phantom voices telling me to kill myself."

Hermione felt strangely unfazed by this. While she never would have guessed off hand that he had suffered hallucinations, it was not surprising to her. 

"You couldn't block them out by occulmency?" She asked gently. 

"Only for a little while," he responded, his hand clasping hers more tightly. "It was different than having someone in your mind - it seemed to be from outside, and thereby was more real and unpredictable."

He looked seriously at her. "I think that's what scared me the most. I would have to go to Madam Pomfrey a complete mess, and she would knock me out with some home brew of hers for twelve hours or something ridiculous, and then I'd wake up again, and recoup most of the hours with a time turner, and for the most part that was the end of that." 

"I'm sorry," Hermione said. She felt these were paltry words, ineffective and a poor response. But he didn't seem to think so, as he drew himself closer to her. 

"I only really feel like I can cope with all of it when doing one of two things," he said slowly, "and I suppose you don't need me to tell you what those are." 

Hermione didn't need to be told - she passed him platter of linguine that had sat in front of her their entire conversation. It was cold, and he didn't seem to be appetized by it, and indeed after a moment he clapped his hands and summoned their elf again. 

"I know I abase the practice,” he said, after calling for what seemed enough to feed a small army, "but there’s something about Muggle packaging on foods. It’s mostly abhorrent to me, but I do miss the sensation of knowing exactly how much damage one is about to do before one has done it. It's hard to replicate without losing a great deal of its aesthetic - casting a calorie interpretation charm just doesn’t have the same feel as eating an entire package of cakes and looking at the calories on the back, and realizing one has eaten enough to fuel a family of four in one meal.” He settled back, one warm hand on his tummy. 

“They have these ‘family-size’ frozen dinners. I found it amusing, buying these to feed my family of one.” His smile was blackly humorless. “There’s such a sensational misery of knowing you’ve eaten, in one sitting, more than three times what you’re supposed to in a day. The thrill of disbelief, the summoning of courage against the compulsion. The ability to quantify the pain and review the course of the struggle with utter precision." 

He sighed. "I did not realize I would miss that."

Hermione felt her throat stick, as though she had tried to swallow a pill without water. 

"You really are doing this to hurt yourself, aren't you?" she murmured, and she was terrified of his response. 

She felt herself wilt under his gaze, her heart racing as his serious eyes mournfully implored her to pay attention. "I was talking like that," he murmured, "last week. But I've been giving it some thought, and I don't think I want to die quite yet." 

She could have been struck by a thunderbolt, she was so startled. "Well, that's a relief," she said, trying to get her bearings back, but as it happened, she lost them completely, and ended up sobbing for no particularly rational reason. 

He scooped her up and held her as she cried, and kissed her tenderly and stroked her hair. She tried a few times to get a grip on herself again, but three times lost it immediately. It was no use. 

Finally she managed to cry herself out. Sometime during this period, Snape's food arrived, but he let it sit. It was only when she had gasped the last tears out that he asked, "What was all that?" 

"Severus," she moaned, "you're important to me. You don't think I'm going to be glad when you tell me you've got the will to live?"

"I *dont* think I said that," said Severus gruffly, but there was a tender thoughtfulness underneath it. 

"Well, a desire to not be dead is a step in the right direction," she responded with a pained laugh. 

"How could I want to be dead," he murmured. "I've never *wanted* it. I've been ambivalent, yes. Because being dead has merely seemed better than the alternative sometimes, that is all." 

The corner of his mouth formed a recalcitrant smile. "For the moment, though, I'm very satisfied with what I've got." He kissed her on the top of her head. "I suppose I simply struggle in terms of the mechanics of *how* to live effectively. At least," he added darkly, “that’s how I feel right now.” 

"After so many years of panic and fight or flight, settling down is hard," she affirmed. "Even I have had trouble with that." 

"Unfortunately,” Severus said, and began to reach for the chips that sat in front of him. 

As he ate, Hermione nestled herself deeper in his arm, face first. His deodorant or what-have-you smelled deliciously masculine, and breathing in the scent, laced with sweaty pheromones, made Hermione's mood improve a bit as well. The feeling of his flesh reverberating as he chewed was incredibly satisfying, and she thought blissfully about the calories he was consuming, adding on top of those he'd already eaten in the treacle tart. 

They remained quiet until he had finished his fish and chips. This took a rather long time, because he'd ordered a platter sized to feed a cadre of students. 

He couldn't finish it all, even with Hermione's help (her hand snuck out to steal a great many.) but eventually it became clear that he was comfortably full, and Hermione massaged his well-plumped tummy with great admiration. He had put away a great many chips indeed, and several battered fish besides, and his stomach seemed to radiate warmth as her hand massaged it. 

Then, with salty breath, Severus began kissing her again, on the top of the head, then slipping down to nibble provocatively at her ear, and she felt herself warm up to the idea of making out. She felt his hand brush away the fierce strands of hair that hid the back of her neck, and his fingers wormed their way up to gently touch the nape of her neck, along the hairline, where its velvet softness yearned to be touched. His lips proceeded to wend their way up the same path, beginning near the base of her spine with slow, perfectly-tempered kisses that made their way up her neck, warming her and leaving her skin tingling and warm. 

There was the hint of teeth once every few kisses, just the right amount, reassuring Hermione of his animal possessiveness and attraction to her. She murmured and sighed as she felt him nip her just a bit, and arched her neck. he responded to this by experimentally taking the lump of fat at her chin into his teeth and pressing down a little harder. 

She outright moaned. "God," she whimpered, "yes." 

He was immediately intrigued, and with a fierce motion, he ripped her front buttons open to reveal her growing, swelling breasts. Scooping one of them into his hand and kneading it - what a nice feeling, she thought as she looked at it, her breast was so big it spilled out of his hand, unable to be contained, a big ball of fatty molten tissue, like jiggly bread dough - he then pressed his lips against the side of it, at the place the breast joined her chest, where the fat was thickest, and he clasped it in his teeth gingerly. 

"Yes," she murmured, relishing the feeling of teeth and hot tongue together. He was biting and licking at the same time, and with a few careful waves of his hand, Hermione felt a similar sensation on her other breast as well, symmetrically. Snape had used what Hermione privately called a cloning charm, which replicated his efforts on her other side. 

She felt herself opening up like a flower on time-lapse video, her entire body awakening to the sensations and longing to be penetrated. She slipped out of his arms onto the floor and lay there. The rug was old and not particularly comfortable, but she grabbed her wand and waved it, and suddenly the rug was fresh and plush, the kind of rug that was a pleasure to sink one’s feet into. She relaxed into it and undid the rest of her bodice.

He seemed happy to oblige her needs, and he leaned practically into her armpit and kissed her down her sides, licking and sucking at the rolls of chub she had grown. His cloning spell meant that she felt the same thing up and down the other side of his body. She felt the waves of euphoria exude from her, and she had to wave at him to cancel the spell. 

"Too much, too quick," she murmured. "Come on." 

She wiggled her butt out of the rest of her dress, balled it up, and tossed it carelessly out of their way. Severus undid his shirt, but that's as far as he got. She was met by the sight of his big pudgy tum, restrained by an improperly sized belt (in other words: it was too small) and tucked into the binding spells that kept his trousers from falling to pieces as they struggled around the circumference of his so-wide gut. As his hands moved towards his belt, she shook her head and grabbed at his chub.

Oh, it bulged so deliciously, stuffed so completely, as into sausage casing. It threatened to burst as he moved, and she nearly screamed in delight to see the way his tum sloshed and moved under the too-right fabric, daring it to try and hold on much longer. There was evidence of a second belly roll forming there on top, depending on the angle at which he was positioned. As he sank to sit on the rug with a satisfying, fleshy thump, she saw it poking above the other one like the sun peeking over a hill. 

"You are gorgeous," she murmured, a hand pressing against the delicious rise of flesh. "What if I told you I wanted to be as fat as you are by Christmas?" 

His eyes widened in horror. 

"That would... be quite a lot of weight," he said, dangerously close to stammering. "Why set a goal like that for yourself? Didn't we just have a conversation about... living, and its relative merits?" 

Hermione sighed, and sat up. She had been hoping this was an avenue to pillow talk, not a distraction. Alas. 

"I mean," she said, with a frown, "it's different. It really is. I'm not suicidal, darling - I just want to be fat." 

"How are those not the same thing?" He demanded, and, as if he were becoming self conscious, he held his shirt against himself, cradling it. 

"They aren't the same," Hermione said. 

"How?" He demanded again. "Fat is an objective risk factor for poor heAlth on every major metric. Hermione, I appreciate body positive attitudes, I appreciate the erotic components of feeding and stuffing. But you have got to get it through your mind that no one who is healthy wants to be fat. That is the bound between reality and fantasy that I'm not willing to cross if I'm trying to be healthy. Wasn't it you who was arguing the exact opposite of this with me a month* ago?" 

"Yes," Hermione said, "but that was because you were blatantly in disregard of your health. You were a hedonist kamikaze, not simply a hedonist. Just because you've changed your mind on one part of it doesn't mean the rest of it is non-negotiably bad."

He seemed to consider this, and then shook his head. "I can't accept this, Hermione." 

"Well," Hermione responded, "how do you think I felt when you said you don't care if you get so fat you become mortally sick?" 

He looked down his nose at her, but said nothing else. 

"I accepted that," she said, "even though the implication was that I might lose you, and that you were all right with that eventuality. I made an effort to not take it personally. I demand the same from you. You don't have to feel good about it, but accept it you must." 

He rolled his eyes. "Either you, my dear, have outwitted me, or whatever spell or potion you've used on me is making me think so. I don't have a response that isn't an emotional argument." 

She breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "Now of course," she said, "in my case, if any health indicators are alarming, I would stop, Severus. I'm not about to sacrifice my long term happiness for short term happiness. But I do want to do this, for whatever reason, and I would like for this to be a delightful, erotic, and pleasurable experience for both of us, if you choose to participate. Either way," she said, "my mind is made up, and I will try and do this." 

"But why," he murmured, looking down at his own body. He seemed to be asking beyond the reasons he cited.

"Because," Hermione said, gently touching his bare shoulder. "I'm immensely curious about what it will be like, and I want to experiment with my own body, and find a weight that both meets what image I have for myself and is optimal in terms of health. I already know I like being bigger, and I want to see what it is like to be significantly bigger. Beyond what most people would imagine desireable." 

She felt herself add, despite herself, "in some ways, I also want to be of comparable size to you. Partly to show you that, indeed, you are beautiful. And partly because I know your interests, and I think you would enjoy more of me, as much or even more than I will." 

She smirked. "I must say, though, that the main reason is me. I want to. And my not-too-serious goal is to be as big as you are by Christmas." 

He let his shirt drop into his lap, and he leaned towards her. Rolling his shoulders back, he let his body assume a more confident posture. Hermione had long known this attitude was an affectation, but even as he sat there, training his eyes on her, the raw power contained in his gaze and body was formidable. 

This was not a man who would like you to play him falsely in any respect. Hermione appreciated that about him, his distrust. It made gaining his trust all the more valuable. 

"I have accepted, with great effort of will," he said softly, dangerously, "that you like this." He cupped a handful of his soft breast into his hand and squeezed it. "It just makes me feel like I walked into a trap. And anything that seems to speak too much like the accoutrements of a trap makes me suspicious. Whether that's you appreciating my... Appetite.. Or you dangling before me visions of Eros so confounding that they make my head spin." He gazed at her menacingly. 

"This isn't a trap," she responded, her own voice low and dangerous. "Accept that, and let's get fat together. For the right reasons, not the wrong ones." 

"The right ones being?" 

She grinned. "Enjoying it marvelously."

He nodded sagely, as if it had been his idea all along.


	32. submissive sev, button popping

He didn't seem to know how to respond, so he stumbled up and towered over the table. His lips pursed, and he touched his chin with his fingertip. She was reminded of how she first saw him that day in the Great Hall when they first encountered each other again, the way he had so carefully deliberated the choice he was going to make. It was a false sign of reservation, she saw now, an elegant but awkward attempt to stave off time before he took practically all of it.

"Just get whatever appeals to you," she said with a smile on her voice. "No need to debate with yourself."

He grimaced, apparently hating how easy he was to read, but did not respond, his sense of dignity too fragile to stop pretending at it.

He went ahead and brought down some things for them to share on the rug - a large toffee pudding (apparently he hadn't had enough), and a bowl of strawberries.

"Here," he said, the crisp white bowls gleaming in the firelight as he set them down, "have some."

She realized she had barely eaten dinner, other than the fried chips, and was still queasy with the emotional turmoil. She did take a strawberry and she chewed it, letting the sharp flavor cleanse her palate.

She was more interested in feeding him, for the moment, so she picked up a berry and licked it seductively.

"You," he murmured, laying down on the floor, belly flattening underneath him, "what are you doing?"

She didn't need to respond; she put the berry gently in between her teeth and went, belly first, to his eye level, grinning impishly.

"Fine," he moaned, and he inched towards her and began to lick her lips, slow and tantalizing, coaxing her until she gave up the fruit to his tongue.

"Thank you," he said once he'd swallowed it, and before he could say another word, she had another one in her hand, twirling in front of his face by its fibrous stem.

"That's not polite," he said with a groan, but snatched it out of her fingers like a shark grabbing at a fish slung over the back ledge of a boat.

"Why not?" She asked, pressing another one into her mouth, and he moved towards her again to grab it from her lips. She rolled over, starting to giggle, still in possession of the strawberry, which began to ooze its juice out of her mouth over her teeth and down her chin. She tried to suck it up but failed.

He settled the question by kneeling and, as she tried to escape, he lorded himself over her like a lion, with a heavy arm supporting him on one side, and the other possessively caging her on the other side, successfully pinning her down. She felt her chest pounding to have so much heaviness above her, and Snape's cruel smile... Was it play, or was it real? Probably both. He looked as smug as a Gryffindor that had caught its prey unguarded, and was prepared to use brute strength to overcome it to submission.

Oh yes, this was how Slytherins and Gryffindors were the same, Hermione thought, drinking in Severus' power. They both were lords of their ladies, conquerors at heart, never ceasing to have enemies, but also never ceasing to have passion. Slytherins just had been bullied so long they knew the value of hiding their truest desires from everywhere else - that was what disenfranchised people did to protect themselves. But in their own territory, when their own power had waxed.... Oh, Severus was a sight to see. She had, in her relationship with Ron, always thought of herself as the one in charge of the relationship- particularly in charge of such necessary evils as maintenance and care.

But here, in this relationship, she knew it wasn't so one-sided. Ron had never ceased to irritate her in how little he initiated in anything other than the obvious. This was not the case with Severus, no matter what was going on with his crystal-like love for Erika.

Oh, she knew the way he looked at her, he didn't think she was a fragile creature waiting to be protected by him from the cruel world. He saw her as different than that, she felt - a partner worth fucking, not worth worshipping. A partner worth twisting into submission for the sheer joy of it. A partner who wouldn't submit unless she wanted to - and half the pleasure was in convincing her.

He could indeed be a wolf, or a snake, or whatever convenient metaphor he chose. He could do this with her. Not with Erika, and certainly not with Lily.

She had never thought of herself as submissive, but here she was, letting him play her into that place so easily. What a delight it was not to have to be the one trying to get his attention! He was intensely focused on her every breath, watching as she fidgeted and moved.

She was startled from her rapturous wool gathering as he launched himself to the floor and bundled her inTo his arms and stole the squished strawberry from her parted lips, kissing her deeply afterwards, licking her chin and cheeks. Then, when satisfied, he relaxed, and she rolled slightly in his arms until he was spooning her as they lay on the floor.

"This is... Enjoyable," he murmured after some moments, "but I grow impatient. I think we need some more... Efficient methods, am I right?"

"After you," Hermione said with a smile. "I'm a bit worked up after the intensity of the past hour. Not feeling quite all right."

"I hear you," he murmured, and with a great effort he sat up, and the motion was such that his stomach slipped out from being constrained by his trousers; now his belt sat underneath his massive gut, and he rubbed it absently along the lines the belt cut into him. "Would you like to feed me, then? Would that whet your hunger?"

"yes," she said with an enthusiasm that made her own spine tingle.

.......:::  
She let her fingers dive into the soft flesh of his belly and knead it. They were becoming used to having this decadent experience. it was like bathing in cream. And she was well on her way to developing her own luxurious body for them to enjoy.

"Let's get some more food into this belly," she said with a smile, and with gentle hands she guided him into a reclining position, his head propped up by pillows.

His hair arrayed beautifully across the silk and velvet, and she positioned herself beneath the pillows so that his head was indirectly on top of her thickening thigh. "There," she said with a whisper, "that comfortable?"

"Very," he returned, a sly smugness on his face.

His stomach, relishing the relaxed position, made satisfied gurgling noises.

"I can't tell if that means hungry or processing," Hermione said with a smile, "but either way, a bit more can't hurt."

Snape responded by leaning slightly upwards and putting his mouth on the fatty underside of her breast, a hot rush of teeth and soft tongue.

"Mmm," she murmured, feeling awash with heat. "I can't wait until we can sit like this and my breast is so big you can suck my nip from where you now sit."

He shivered. "That's a pleasing thought."

She struggled off her underwear, careful not to disturb him, and he made a motion to take off his trousers and pants as well.

"No," she said as she put an imperative hand on his belly, "wait."

"They hurt," he argued feebly.

She looked down and met his eyes. "Do you *really* want me to let you take them off?"

He nodded.

She conceded. "All right. But let's make sure we're both on the same page as we enter the play."

He mumbled his assent as he swiftly disentangled himself from his belt, trousers, and pants.

"All right," he said with a nearly silly grin, "I didn't think it was fair if you got to be disrobed while I didn't."

"No matter. I have some other plans for you, sweetheart," said Hermione. "Remember our safe word, though."

"I remember," he said with a low growl of pleasure.

"Then let's begin," she said with delight. She proceeded to accio his trousers to her hand. "You won't be needing these anymore, will you?" She asked softly. "They're far too small to be comfortable."

"I only have one other pair in an... Appropriate size," Severus said with embarrassment.

She nodded. "We can do something about that this week," she said. "For the moment, is there something else I can use?"

He wandlessly summoned a cotton dish towel from the kitchenette.

"This is fine," she answered. "Let's get started."

She proceeded to lay the cloth on top of his belly, grab her wand, and cast some interesting transfiguration spells. When it had finished transforming into a long bolt of cotton cloth, she gestured for him to help her get it underneath him, and he arched his back, unintentionally provocative as his belly became prominent, and she admired it with one hand caressing its curve.

She remained focused though, and stuffed the cloth underneath him. Then she began to magically cut and sew it, the first time she'd bothered with anything like this since Molly Weasley taught her the domestic skill. (Her face grew hot at the realization.) the cloth began to grow into an Oxford shirt, with buttons down the front. The fabric yielded to her easily, though it remained checkered and dish towel-like despite her efforts to blend it. She was also unable to get out the few snags that plagued the thing, but she managed to work them into buttonholes that were halfway passable.

Soon the shirt was done, and Hermione admired her handiwork. The towel had been repurposed to an almost unrecognizable end.

Severus looked at it skeptically, craning his neck.

"If I even sit up," he said with a grimace, "this entire thing will fall apart."

Hermione grinned with a thrill as he said that. The sight of him in this shirt was even more enticing than he'd looked in his trousers. The buttons gaped, revealing the delicate skin underneath, and looked in his

"The point," she said with a giggle, "is that you will be trapped where you are until you eat enough to burst the thing."

Severus' face grew quiet. "No," he murmured, "I can't do that. I'm already so full."

"Not too full to sass me, though," she replied smoothly. "No, Severus, I won't be satisfied that you've had enough until you eat your way out of that shirt. Come now, it's already so tight on you. You could do it right now if you finished that tin of pudding, now couldn't you?"

He groaned, and put a hand on his upper belly to massage it deeply with his fingers. She could already see his erection rising, which was a very good sign.

"I suppose," he tumbled good-naturedly. "But I can't do it without some help."

"No fear," Hermione said with a smile, and she accio'ed the tin of pudding into her hands. "I will stuff you, Severus, until you are too full to speak."

He nodded, and she was satisfied by the twinge his dick made as she spoke.

"I am ready," he announced, and she took the big wooden spoon from the table and drove it into the thick, gooey pudding. It was like driving a pylon into the sea, where it could stand right up afterwards, but she wasn't doing this for aesthetics. She took the spoon out of the pudding and gave Severus an enormous spoonful.

"Enjoy," she said with a soft smirk, and she was exhilarated to see him attack it ravenously. He practically inhaled it, then waved her hand to get more as he sucked it down.

"That's so rich," he murmured with a sigh after eating the second heaping spoonful. "I might be unable to tuck it in."

"Now that's all right," she said cheerfully, "you can take a break if you want to, my dear. Just know that this warm, sticky mess will be followed by a course of something quite different."

She pressed a strawberry into his mouth as he tried to respond, and he was effectively shut up for the moment.

"Hermione," he begged, and he thrust a second, then a third strawberry in his mouth, pudging out his cheeks in the way that made him look so plump and delectable. Then, as he swallowed, he seemed to have a flash of inspiration. "Mistress?"

That got her attention darned well. "Yes, poppet?" she asked, not sure how she chose the word, but if Severus objected, he didn't say so. In fact, she thought she saw a glimmer of warmth in his eyes. Maybe he liked being talked to like a child.

"Can't I have some more?" There was a contented purr in his voice that she found irresistible. She began to stroke his shirtfront, trying to smooth the wrinkles in vain.

"More what?" she asked, obviously she knew, but it was part of the play. She draped herself across him and kissed his cheek.

"More pudding," he said simply.

Hermione tsked with her tongue.

"Now darling, I know I usually let you have whatever you want, but I want to make sure you know that you're getting a bit, erm, big."

"Is that so?" he replied, the awe and surprise in his voice clearly a charade, but an effective one.

"Oh yes dearie," Hermione said, finding her voice sounded like her grandmother's strangely. It was a comforting sort of fretting. "I mean, haven't you gotten too big for your trousers? If you keep this up," she went on, her voice getting stiffer as her lady-bits got harder, "you might get fat."

"Oh no," murmured Severus, with childlike simplicity, and it was the most eerie and charming thing. "But," he went on, "what if I can't stop eating? I like to eat, Mistress. It's my favorite thing to do."

"Do you want to get fat?" answered Hermione, her face reddening as her hand grappled with the most convenient and beautiful roll of his fat.

"What's wrong with it?" asked Severus, and that was Hermione's cue. She ripped herself from the floor and sat herself down on top of his cock, her buttocks spreading over his balls and her vag firmly trapping his dick, forcing it to fold backwards up against his belly.

"Imagine your belly is as heavy as I am," she whispered, "that my fat behind is your own belly and pubic fat. They’re so large and so jiggly that they trap your precious willy and hide it in a massive blob of flesh."

He shuddered in ecstasy, his eyes closed, his hands groping her blindly until they got to her beautiful deflating-bubble butt. (She’d noticed her buttocks just starting to sag with cellulite as the fat cells began to adhere to gravity's call.) 

"Do you want to get so big, Severus," she whispered, "that you can't get out of bed, that you're entirely dependent on me, your busty Mistress-slave, to fetch and carry for you what you yourself cannot?"

He was clearly having immense trouble keeping his body from succumbing to the rapture of orgasm, so all he could do was nod.

"Good, good, my sweetheart," she whispered, "then here you go."

She gently got off him, and his hands went immediately to touch himself, to alleviate some of the desperate pangs of lust that she had evoked in him. She grabbed his hands in a forceful coup.

"No," she said imperiously, "not until you have finished your dinner."

He moaned with what seemed like genuine pain, so she broke for a moment. "Do you want to stop?" she asked, staring at him seriously. And his eyes opened to look into hers with what seemed to be actual hurt and struggle. 

He answered, in a hiss, "No."

"Are you sure?" she confirmed, "You don't look particularly happy"

"Go back," he sneered, his face reddening, "now."

"All right," she said, and he glared at her even for saying this. She grabbed the tin of pudding, and Severus demanded, "Say it again."

"What?" she asked, and he groaned. Then she realized what he meant. "Oh," she responded, squeezing his hands again and holding him down. She leaned in closely, slowly, until her lips met his ear.

In an erotically dramatic fashion, she whispered, "You can touch yourself any time you like, as much as you like, but only after you have finished your dinner. You promised me that you'd finish your toffee pudding." She then lifted the spoon to his lips. "Were your eyes bigger than your stomach?"

"Never," he responded hoarsely. He proceeded to grab all of the contents from the spoon with his teeth, and as he chewed, a change came over him. He tore his hands out of her grasp. “Now,” he said, one hand on his belly, the other propping his head up in an incredibly luxurious fashion, “let’s dispense with the frivolity. Feed me, witch.” 

She saw it was her time to let him be in charge, and she shrank away a bit as she lifted the next spoonful to his mouth. He took it and swallowed it swiftly, and then gestured for something to drink. 

Hermione grabbed him the pitcher of milk, and she poured him a tumbler and gave it to him. He drank it greedily, his thick double-chin bobbing as he gulped. He gave the tumbler back to her, and she put it on the floor, and as her head was turned she peripherally saw him stifle a burp in his sleeve. 

She then took the spoon and offered it to him again. He took another heaping bite, but frustration seemed to set in. He seemed about to say something caustic, but instead revised, it instead saying, “This...oh, just give it to me.” 

Hermione gave him the spoon and held the bowl for him. He proceeded to go to town on that tin of toffee pudding. While substantially larger than the other one, he made steady progress. 

During his next milk break, the man finally lost the buttons on his shirt. Hermione was watching for any sign of breakage, as the shirt’s buttons couldn’t possibly take any more strain, and she was delighted when, as he took a deep breath after drinking a full tumbler of milk, the buttons practically peeled off. 

“Gods,” was all he said, with relief, and he peeled off the scraps of what was left of the shirt (which, granted, was all of it, minus buttons.) 

He didn’t see the red marks that dotted his torso, instead picking up the pudding again and stuffing himself to the finish. 

Hermione got up, rummaged around his desk drawers, and found a tincture of hazel to put on the red marks. 

He was startled by his ministrations, but was at the point where he had to pause for breath between bites, so he didn’t say anything. 

He started outright panting as he neared the bottom of the pan. 

“It’s… it’s too much,” he moaned, laying back on the pillows, “I’m so… so full. More milk, please?” 

She gave him the tumbler back, and he drank two full glasses, though it took him a great deal of effort to get them down; in the end, he had to take little sips. 

“You’re doing so well,” Hermione said. “Just a bit more, now.” 

He nodded, and looked about ready to fall asleep. “I know,” he said lamely, and he yawned, which turned into another burp, which he stifled far less subtly. Embarrassed, he glanced at her, and she just patted the top of his tummy as reassurance. 

“How can I get you to finish?” Hermione asked, and Severus looked at her with such a painful grimace, she knew it was nearly time. 

“We’re almost there,” she said, “come on, Sev. You helped demolish the dark lord, certainly you can finish your cake.”

He looked like he was going to start laughing, but then he looked like he was going to throw up if he started laughing, so he just groaned and rubbed his belly. “Don’t… don’t make me laugh,” he warned her. 

“I won’t again,” she promised. “Here.” 

She picked up the tin of pudding, dragged her finger through the sauce, and held it to Severus’ lips. He sucked on it hungrily, until it was clean, and he sighed in contentment. 

This was going to be easier than she expected. 

She did this a grand total of twenty-three times, and the entire bowl was clean. 

Severus, however, was unmovable. He looked like he was about to be sick any moment, and Hermione implored him to recline and relax, and she rubbed his overtaxed tummy with vigorous motions. 

“How was that?” she asked Severus as he stared at her through nearly-closed eyelids. 

“Wonderful,” he affirmed, “as usual.” 

His breathing proceeded to get slower, and then finally it was clear he had fallen asleep. Hermione snuffed out the candles in the room with a swift hand, then accio’ed one of the throws from the sofa, and draped it over them, with some extension spells of course. 

Then, she cuddled up to him, making herself the big spoon as she fit her body against his, and draped her hand over his belly, to conveniently massage it as she drifted off, too.


	33. sexy bath

The weeks rolled by with relative ease after that long, tumultuous weekend. Hermione found herself making a frustrating amount of progress on her weight gain, partially because of the stress they had gone through over the course of that weekend of October. It took her several days to acquire equilibrium again, despite their delicious play on Sunday evening.

But two weeks later, a stone’s throw from Halloween, she came to a breakthrough, and it was joyous and sexy.

It was a Saturday morning. She had gained significantly less than her goal of two pounds a day - in two weeks she had put on scarcely ten pounds. Her hopes of gaining a hundred pounds come Christmas were, she feared, long gone. 

She had been working a bit too hard, Severus told her, on the conference, and she wasn't exactly putting her teaching on the side burner either. She was preparing her students hard for the upcoming NEWTS and OWLS, which seemed like they were coming up in a shorter time than not, and that meant extra hours grading, providing a revision group, and more. While Severus seemed to eat more the more stressed he was, she found herself eating less because she was so frantically busy.

Severus, once or twice, mentioned his potions, but she frowned and refused them. Her weight gain was not going to be sustainable unless it was natural, she knew, and she didn't want to come by her added voluptuousness by what she felt would be cheating.

But one Saturday her luck seemed to change.

She awoke to the sound of water running in the bathroom. It was warm where she was in bed - in fact, she felt like someone had thoughtfully cast a warming charm on her - but with enough effort she managed to shake it off. The fire was in embers, quietly emanating a cozy heat, and it sounded like Severus was running a bath.

She went to the bathroom and knocked. "Enter," he said, his voice echoey on the marble.

She went inside and was wrapped in steam. Severus was in the shallow end of the enormous bathtub, only partly submerged as the water ran. He had his glasses on and his computer positioned on a stool within reach of him. He lay on his side, his chin propped on the rim of the tub, and his dry hand scrolled on the trackpad. His other hand was hidden beneath the bubbling water, which, at a mere foot deep at that part, was enough to obscure everything lower than his breasts. The water lapped at these gently, teasingly.

Hermione smiled and cast a hand over her body absently. "Room for one more?" she asked, and he nodded, clearly in a good humor.

“It's bigger on the inside,” he said, and she slipped into the foaming water, which was a beautiful aquamarine color, the shade of a chlorinated swimming pool. It smelled like the ocean, serenely briny. The bubbles were magnetic to her skin, attaching themselves to her in a protective ring.

The tub was indeed bigger than it looked - magic was trippy that way - and Hermione put her legs around him and pressed her crotch against his squishy wet bottom. He shivered slightly as she moved her dry hands gently down his arms, inching like spiders; her hands disconnected around where his fleshy upper arms ended at the elbows, and her hands floated through the air to land at his sumptuous love-handles, which she grasped fervently, stroking his taut skin, which was flushed with the heat of the bath.

She ground against him, then submerged her hands in the water to follow the curve of his belly from the thigh to the unreachable penis.

Try as she might, there was no way her hands could meet when they were tight around his circumference. She put that down to both his massive size, but also the amount of pudge she'd put on herself, particularly in the area of her breasts and belly.

But she could, if she leaned far enough, and was willing to wrap along his hip line rather than his belly, still get at his member from this position. It was awkward and ungainly, but her hand dove beneath the ponderous overhang of fat and could grasp his balls in her hand, though just barely.

He turned his head back to look at her, and his eyes were full of lust and pleading.

“Let's try this a different way,” she said, and she motioned for him to turn around. He pushed his computer away, and she got a glimpse of some intriguing photographs. Mermaids, it so happened, mermaids with large creamy bellies and breasts, all of them with beautiful hair that floated around them in the water.

"Well," Hermione said with a smirk, gesturing at the computer, "is this the mood you're in?"

"A bit," he replied, his face reddening, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. "The Slytherin’s common room always had its...point of intrigue, for me, in this way."

Hermione nodded, and they recalibrated their position in the bath. He slipped from the shallower depth and disentangled himself from her grasp, moving towards the deeper edge of the bath. "Come," he purred.

The water was deep enough and broad enough that it might have been more efficient to swim, though not so deep that she couldn't stand on the floor and still breathe. It was about four feet deep at its lowest point. Like the swimming pools Hermione had grown up with at her local muggle community center, it had places to sit carved out of the wall, and even when the water was off, it created a marvelous series of waves automatically, gentle and relaxing.

Severus sat himself on one of the ledges of the tub, and one hand attached immediately to his cock. Hermione brushed it away and took his cock and balls into her own hands, and in response, his own hands moved to part her labia and play with her clit. The water made his hands silky, and she gasped as he brushed her, over and over.

Her face must have drained of color as she felt her body writhe with pleasure, and she felt her head go woozy with the orgasm.

"Relax," he said, and disconnected her hands from his parts, - his dick was as hard as a dragon’s toe - “just enjoy it."

She felt herself go numb with relaxation, and as she let herself relax, she found her legs floating up.

"Perfect," Severus intoned, and once she was floating completely flat, he separated her legs a little more. His touch was almost electric, and she was fascinated at how his tongue moved so ravenously over her skin.

She sank a little bit into the water as he indulged her, her body involuntarily flexing with rigidity, and he followed, his head ducking underwater for a concerning amount of time until she realized he must be using a bubble head type of charm. He finally released her and she panted gratefully as the stillness seeped into her. The water lapped around her body and she floated, relaxed and unmoving.

"That was brilliant," she slurred, breathing deeply the aromatic air. Bubbles began to emerge in her crevices in unexpected ways, and she shivered and stood straight.

"Thanks," he said, his smile shy and obliging, and she couldn't help but grab him forcefully and smother him in hot, careless kisses, ignited by his efforts.

He seemed momentarily bewildered, but kissed her back just as ardently after a brief second of hesitation. His lips were wet with water, his face and hair drenched, and she ran her hand through his long tresses stuck together though they were, and she toyed with them as she enjoyed him.

Gradually her hands started moving lower, and her head too, pausing to suck temptuously at his nipples, so naughtily positioned on the thick slabs of his breast meat. He moaned as she did so, and her hand roamed across his stretch-marked belly, which was like silk in the sudsy water. It was beyond pleasurable to touch, and she found herself becoming fiercely turned on again. One of her hands wandered to her clit, which she stroked ferociously, and she began to come again, leaving her charge unattended with guilt.

"Gods," he murmured, and he reconnected her hand with his aching, ramrod member, which she took reluctantly - her hand grabbed at him with the same fierceness she needed inside her, and she stroked with the same viciousness with which she wanted to be penetrated.

He proceeded to grab her head and, purposefully, he gently shoved it in a downward way.

The urgentness of his request was not lost on her, but sucking dick underwater was not something she was prepared to do without significant aid. "Spell me?" She asked, and with a pass of his hand over her face, she felt a gasp of breathlessness emerge in her throat and she plunged underwater. She was able to breathe there, and she took a moment to recuperate. Then she saw that her vision was clear, as if she were wearing goggles, and severus' cock ached meaningfully, begging for mercy. Sev was obligingly making room for her face by holding up the massive poundage of his front.

So delicious. Her face went straight for deep throat - she had, after all, researched this years ago out of a desire to be Better Than Lavender at sexing Ron - and fortunately his cock wasn't so long that she gagged on it, like Ron’s always had made her do. She was indeed highly satisfied with his feel in her mouth, the water giving his cock the texture of a massive tongue. Sometimes, though she wasn't entirely sure how she managed it, as she stroked him with her mouth, her lips would grace his succulent pubic fat, which would make him visibly shudder every time. She did her best to jiggle it with every stroke, one hand grasping the base of his cock and pressing deeply into his pillow like fat there.

Also his balls. They were enormous, and looked strangely bigger underwater. She jostled them warmly like birds eggs, clasping them and stroking them. She felt thrilled to be there, so close to him in the morning.

Then his muscles convulsed with a definitiveness, and she began to work more vigorously, bracing herself for the final push. Victory came swiftly, squirting in her mouth, and she collected it and spit it out into the water discreetly when he pulled himself out of her mouth.

She came up again for air, gasping, eyes blurry as though she was underwater. he had his head rolled back. She tapped him and touched her throat, and he released her from the spell that made her breathe above water like she was under, and vice versa.

"Clever spell," she murmured when she had her breath back. "Where'd you get it?"

He grinned and shook his head, letting out a soft moan. "Clever girl," he murmured, panting for breath, "give me a moment to recover."

She was not planning on doing anything of the sort, and she climbed out of the bath and grasped one of the warm Slytherin-green towels that presented themselves to her. "Time to be productive," she said, wrapping one gingerly around her self, and one around her mass of bodacious hair. She smiled seductively at him as he looked wearily back.

"Don't forget," he said with a grumpy petulance, "that I have twenty years and a hundred pounds on you."

"Well," Hermione said with a laugh, "I thought we were going to work on that last part."

He sighed, with faux aggrievance, and he hoisted himself up out of the bath with trembling arms. "You're shameless," he said, his thick feet slapping the tile mercilessly, and wiped himself off with a towel, then thrust himself into a luxurious silk robe that, Hermione noticed, actually tied around him as intended, with room to spare.

"You won't be able to fit in that for long," she said with a melodic teasing voice, and he responded by grabbing her around the waist from behind, with a ferocity that made her clit beg to be touched again.

Pressed close against him like she was, she heard him whisper in her ear, in a voice so low and seductive that he must have imported it from hell, Severus murmured, "When I'm done with you, neither will you."

"Fuck," Hermione whimpered, and looked around for a convenient place to lay down and get herself off. She decided the fluffy frieze bath mat would suffice, and she unravelled her towel and spread it across the tile. Then, putting her beautifully-formed behind on the rug, she lay upon her makeshift bed. The warm dampness of the water residue in the towel was a balm on her back, and the marble tile of the floor was cold on her heels. She spread her legs apart anyway.

Severus didn't need to be told what to do, and he knelt down and eased himself into the place between her legs, putting his knees on the mat. His robe came slightly unfurled, the belt riding up his belly, exposing his delicate scarred flesh and thick thighs. He automatically used one hand to try and readjust his robe, but it was pretty much futile while his other hand was occupied in Hermione's vagina. She needed very little persuasion to come heavily under his practiced hand, and her body bucked with pleasure.

She was soon panting and spent, her body glowing with the rush of hormones and fresh orgasm. "Beautiful," she murmured happily, and Severus eased himself up from the floor with surprising agility.

"Altogether too much before breakfast," he said grumpily, extending his hand to help her rise, but she knew he was joking. "Come on, my dear, calories wait for no man."

"It's true," she said with a smirk, "though a good fucking always makes me ravenous."

"A fine thing, too," he said, "since we've wasted so many calories working so hard this morning."

"I'll make them up, no problem," Hermione intoned giddily, and unwrapped the towel from around her hair - it had gotten loose in their exertions - and encased her body in it. It was smaller than the other towel, and it barely came together around her waist. She grabbed a pin from the dresser and closed it, at the top, but The rest of her body was visible in the wide split that followed her growing pear shape.

He drank in the view appreciatively. "You'd better," he purred, placing a hand on her growing roll of belly fat, his thumb slipping down until he grabbed it and heaved it in an upwards motion. It overfilled his hand and jiggled invitingly, sending a sensitive shiver through her body, but didn't have enough flesh behind it to be lifted; it wasn't quite yet an overhang like he had. "Wouldn't want to wake up tomorrow with a skinny Minnie in my arms. You're quite small still."

"Then let's feed me up," Hermione said, and grabbed his hand and marched out of the room, him following meekly.


	34. more sexsperiments

Severus and Hermione seated themselves down to a breakfast that was of distressing beauty.

 

"I can't possibly finish all this," pleaded Hermione as she watched the table magically become laden with more and more food. "This is a lot, Severus."

 

"Your at least make an effort to try, witch," said Severus comfortably, easing himself into his favorite chair. His arse filled it well - as he settled himself down, the pads of buttock fat jiggled beneath him, distinctly sloshing the rest of his body backwards and forwards with the tiniest of motions. It was like he was settling in the middle of a voluminous water bed.

 

"You've been putting some on," Hermione observed, "you'll have to help me out."

 

He flushed red as he lay a hand on top of his belly. "I certainly intend to," he said with an arched eyebrow.

 

The robe he wore was the right size while standing, but while sitting it was tightly clinging to him, revealing the jiggly buttery mountain that was his bloated tum. Every motion he made, it wobbled just a bit. Readjusting in his chair, shifting his weight on his buttocks, made his fat slosh around so appealingly.

 

He was fit to burst, she thought with a flush rising on her own cheeks, her lady-boner becoming painful.

 

He took up his fork and, not breaking eye contact with her, began to slice into a stack of hot cakes as broad as his round face.

 

She smiled, and took up her own utensils. Time for carbohydrates of her own - her preference was for salty to start, and she brought forward a platter of bacon croissants.

 

One of them flew out of her reach before she could grasp it, and she saw Severus mopping up his plateful of extra syrup with the pastry.

 

"How'd you eat all those so fast?" she demanded, her heart racing as she saw his hot cakes were gone.

 

He just grinned with a supercilious look. "Now I've sated myself for the moment, it's time to help you," he said, stuffing the rest of the croissant in his mouth.

 

Hermione sat back and let him approach her. She let her legs spread wide as she relished the feeling of her thigh fat wobbling beneath her. What was it about thigh fat that made her feel so...expansive? Voluptuous?

 

She realized it as soon as she saw the way he strode unsteadily from his side of the table to hers. He tried to mask it with his usual gliding stride, but she could tell he was subtly more unsteady, just a touch more waddley. Increased poundage was to blame, she imagined. It was probably time for her to weigh him and get a sense of how much man she had to fuck her.

 

Yes, he took up just a bit more space with every new pound he added to his vast frame, and every inch looked so natural and becoming on him that she could barely remember how he looked during her old school days.

 

Hermione shuddered as he laid his thick face in the crook between her neck and clavicle, and just breathed heavily in her hair.

 

"What do you want?" he whispered. His voice was hoarse, and he pressed himself against her side. A rising erection got her attention, though it wasn't full fledged given their wholehearted efforts earlier.

 

Hermione reached for the urgently-haranguing cock and clasped her hand around its softness, wrapping the silken cloth of Severus’ robe around it.

 

“I want to be the fattest bitch you ever fucked,” she said, the words rolling out of her mouth easily as she pressed her ample side against him. She didn’t think she had much of a sadistic streak, but sometimes the mood struck her.

 

“Curses,” he murmured in agony, wrapping his arms around her and pressing her tighter against him. “You know how to tease me.”

 

“And so do you know how to tease me,” agreed Hermione, and she grabbed at Severus’ hands and removed them from her person. “Be useful, my dear, or be gone.”

 

Not needing to be told twice, Severus settled his large arse onto the arm of her chair, straddling it with his thick slabs of thighs. His right one jostled joyfully against her, contained beneath the silk but tightly pressed against it. She pressed against him, helping him balance, and opened her mouth expectantly.

 

“I know you don’t want potions to increase the size of your stomach,” Severus said, his voice soft and steely, “but how about charms? Spells?”

 

Hermione grinned. “Have you been experimenting?”

 

He nodded, his long hair fanning across his plump and ruddy cheek. “A bit. Nothing particularly mind-blowing. A charm to subvert the gag reflex, for one thing, and another to permit the expansion of the jaw and throat as needed to accommodate food.”

 

Hermione felt uncomfortable, and started imagining cartoons where the mouths of the characters would get bigger and bigger.

 

“Show me,” she said, “I want to see you use it first.”

 

He grinned shyly. “You seem to find every conceivable excuse for me to eat, my darling.”

 

“Don’t tell me you don’t like it,” she purred in response, her face warming with a blush.

 

He just smirked in response, and with a quick wand-tap on his throat and chin, he lay down his wand and took up a basket of crumpets instead.

 

“And now,” he said, and lifted the basket to his mouth, “the demonstration.” He tilted his head back, and, without further ado, poured the crumpets into his mouth. The movement was gentle and slow, as was to be expected from a potions-master used to tipping substances into cauldrons in a controlled fashion. And somehow each crumpet, nearly the size of Severus’ hand, managed to wend its way into his mouth. It wasn’t as if his mouth was visibly growing larger, at least not that Hermione could tell.

 

But, ah, his stomach was. With a whole basket of crumpets in his belly, he settled back against the chair for support, and rubbed the bloated top of his belly with care.

 

“That… don’t do that with dry carbohydrates,” he said with a groan, “they expand so much in the stomach, so quickly, that there’s no room for anything else.”

 

“But they do digest easier,” Hermione said, her hand settling into a comfortable place just below Severus’ heavy breasts, and she began to massage him gently.

 

“Oh Merlin,” Severus half-groaned, half-growled, “Oh, minx. You distracting wench. We’ll never get you up to your weight goal if every time I try and feed you up, you turn the tables on me.”

 

“True,” Hermione said, and pinched Severus’ ample love-handle tenderly. “But you’re so fun to feed.”

 

“I suppose I do play the part of willing participant,” he responded begrudgingly, and then, with a heaving sigh, he sat forward. “Would you like to try this series of spells?”

 

Hermione looked at him. His face was sweaty, and he wiped it with his sleeve. Her hand hadn’t left the cozy place where it’d made its home, caressing his flesh through his quality robe.

 

“You know what,” she said, and let out a breath - along with her sense of dignity - “I would like to go ahead and use some potions. I do have a goal, and while I’d prefer for this all to go along naturally, it seems as if I’m being silly by holding out.”

 

“But you were worried about the lack of permanence,” Severus said, his face contorting with question. “About deflating, so to speak.”

 

“Let’s confront that once we come to it,” Hermione said with a tone of finality. “For the moment, I would like to try anything and everything we can. We have a goal. I’m scarcely 183 pounds at this point. I’d like to reach 324 within approximately two months. We have a hundred and forty-odd pounds to put on in that time.”

 

“And, again,” Severus drawled, seemingly recovered from his stiff bout of pain from the crumpets, “why that number in particular?”

 

Hermione’s face crinkled with delight. “A wager I made with Ron. Also,” she said, a smirk coming onto her face, “that’s how much you weighed at the beginning of this month. You’ve surpassed that well by now, haven’t you?”

 

Snape just rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to answer. His newest stretch marks were telltale signs of his gluttony.

 

“We’ll start with what we already know has worked in the past,” Hermione said, her bossiness coming to the forefront. “We have experimented with the expansion potion, and the pain suppressant potion. We’ll use both of those now, in the amounts I previously used.”

 

She paused. “Last time we used the potions, I gained ten pounds afterwards. All of that went straight to my beautiful growing gut.” She patted it fondly, and Severus’ hand began to wander towards it, his thumb sinking below her not-quite-hangy-overhang and grasping her belly fat firmly. “I’m not entirely sure if we managed just to do that in one day, or if that happened over the course of that week.”

 

He looked thoughtful. “I think it’s possible that you gained, perhaps, a full five to seven pounds during that session we had. The remainder, I believe, came from the rest of the week.”

 

“Excellent,” Hermione said, and summoned a piece of parchment from her desk. “So, if I calculate this correctly…”

 

She did some brief mental math, then smiled.

 

“We have to fill me up like that nearly every day until Christmas, but we shall get there. A hundred and forty pounds in about sixty days means I should gain between two to three pounds a day. If we stuff me like we did that one time every day between then and now, we’ll have met the goal.”

 

Severus’ eyes were wide. “You don’t mean you’ll actually go through with this so seriously?” he said, his hand retreating, his eyes somewhat wild with worry. “There may be serious repercussions to such rapid gain, Hermione.”

 

She smirked. “Better do it now, then, while I’m young and relatively fit. My body will adapt better. It’ll be like training,” she mused, “or studying.” Her eyes lit up. “Could we call them lessons?”

 

“Oh gods,” Snape cursed, shaking his head, “that I cannot do, Hermione. We will never, ever, ever, play around with that dynamic. Never.”

 

“Just thought I’d ask,” Hermione responded, feeling a twinge of sadness at his vehemence. Playing with the teacher/student dynamic was deeply appealing to her, all the more so because he resisted it so.

 

“So in any case,” she said, trying to remain bouyant, “enough dicking about. Let’s get started on this and get it over with, so I can get back to grading. I’ve got so much revision to do with these children.”

 

“Understood,” Severus said, always responsive to her need to grade. He was full of gratitude, she knew, about not having to do it himself any longer. “Let’s commence.”

 

……….

 

As per their success last time, he administered the exact quantity of twelve drops of the expansion potion, setting it aside for once she finished her first successful stuffing. And then, she commenced with the eating, using the new charms he’d tested.

 

Oh, it was heavenly to be able to inhale hot cakes and eggs and bacon without a care in the world for chewing or tasting. No, this was serious eating, not even for the pleasure of it, but for the delayed anticipation of a future deliciously plump body.

 

Ah yes, she mused to herself, one might even call this *weight training.*

 

She slurped as much as she could down, and then settled back in her chair with an ‘oof.’ Severus, his own belly starting to sag and swell as his carbs digested, reassured her by giving her the water to drink. All at once, her belly flooded with room, and the enhanced stretching capacities were exciting to fill.

 

Oh, despite herself, she enjoyed herself. Severus summoned towards her an enormous coffee cake, covered in sweet crumble and oozing with warm chocolate bits. With the new charm, she lifted the entire thing and put it in her mouth. How it worked she couldn’t quite say, but the food was successfully inside her mouth, and she chewed it, and swallowed it, without any difficulty.

 

To cut the cloying sweetness, he offered her a pitcher of fresh orange juice. Then, after a moment, he had a realization.

 

“Wait,” he said, and heaved his enormous buttocks off the chair and went to the kitchen, his tread heavy as he went. Soon he returned with a pound of sugar. With a deft hand, he opened the top, and poured it in.

 

Hermione grinned. “Might as well get the extra calories in,” she said with a smirk. “Well done, darling.”

 

He grinned in the way he often did when he was doing something she thought was kind, but he thought was selfish. She didn’t protest, and instead simply drank down the picture in a few enthusiastic glugs.

 

“Excellent,” she said, and paused as Severus wiped her face with a fine linen cloth. “Now some more meat, my dear.”

 

He glanced about, and then gathered up a platter of kidneys. While not Hermione’s favorite breakfast item, they certainly were filling and fattening, so she swallowed those down and let them settle into her expansive belly.

 

“This is becoming less and less squishy,” she said with delight, drawing her hand over her belly, so taut and tight it appeared as if she were pregnant. “I’m enjoying this a lot, my dear.”

 

“Glad,” Severus replied thickly, clearing his throat.

 

Her hand rustled against his silk gown as it slipped down, and she found his cock growing hard beneath it.

 

“Keep at it,” she said with a sense of deep satisfaction, “we haven’t stuffed me senseless yet.”

 

He nodded and, like a good servant, he brought forward several options for her next enjoyment - more of that heavenly strawberries with cream, as well as a platter of overstuffed sausages, and a large basket of hot biscuits.

 

Oh, the biscuits would always be her first choice. She grabbed them and shoveled one after another down her expanded throat. It felt so good to just shove bite after bite down, and she felt the dense fatty carbs swell in her belly.

 

The entire two dozen soon was consumed, and oh, she was growing full finally.

 

“Sausage,” she grunted, feeling every bit a pig ready to be slaughtered, and Severus brought bite after bite to her open and willing mouth as she swallowed them. Each bit brought her a little bit closer to fullness, a little bit closer to completion.

 

And then, finally, there was only one.

 

“Strawberries,” she said, waving away the final sausage. Severus nodded and grabbed the strawberries. She couldn’t be bothered to say or do any more, so he spooned the thick mixture into her mouth, and she swallowed greedily, envisioning how every bite was going to combine to create a magical mixture of fat that would soon be draping over her body like plush and silk.

 

Then, finally, she was done with these also, and she strained her neck to look into Severus’ eyes. He was glistening with sweat, and as she looked at him with askance in her eyes, he pressed his hard member against her. He’d recovered quite a lot, and was ready to fuck her again, there was no question about that.

 

He began to tug away at his robe, and it unfolded around him, slipping to the floor as he steadied himself. Hermione reclined back in her chair, experiencing the weightlessness that came with being so badly overstuffed, and she cooed at him, pointing one pudgy finger at the final sausage.

 

He looked at her and grabbed it, and raised it to her mouth to bite.

 

“No,” she mumbled, and stifled a belch. She pointed at her nether regions, which had been neglected this entire time. “There.”

 

He chuckled, and with one hand around his own cock, he took the cock-sized sausage and, with a quick glance to check in with her, he thrust it inside her wet vagina, which sucked at it hungrily.

 

He didn’t need to be told how to move it, or where to try and hit. He had quite a bit of practice at this point, and she moaned and groaned with the augmenting pleasure until she climaxed, her entire body forcefully shaking with the experience of orgasm.

  
She came three times more before she ordered him, with a flick of her hand, to be done with it, and then he took the sausage into his hand and looked at her expectantly.

 

“It’s calories,” she murmured, “but I can’t eat another bite.”

 

“I won’t let them go to waste,” he said with a darkly passionate kiss of her cunt, and he ate the sausage himself, covered though it was with her juices.

 

Oh, she felt so lovely at the sight of this! Particularly since he went straight back to her cunt once he was done with the sausage, which had only served to whet his appetite for her wet juices. He licked and sucked, and she whimpered and begged, and his fingers made their way up her vagina, sticking together so well that she came again right then and there.

 

Then, with a swift motion, he helped her up. “Come, my vixen,” he said with a dark grin, “you’d best come with me.”

 

Then he led her to the bedroom, and proceeded to fuck her precious brains out.


	35. Halloween, McGonagall's POV

The days rolled by, and Hermione put in the requisite amount of effort. Severus, as her feeder, went above and beyond the call of duty. He fetched and carried for her, ensured that there was never a moment where her fingers were lacking a nearby full plate, and gently encouraged her once she was already full.

 

All of the talk about gaining, all the time, made Hermione heady, and she found herself masturbating with greater regularity - her only exercise, Severus observed with a smirk. She always needed to get off after breakfast, and almost always needed to after dinner. Once in a while, Severus would even indulge her in a post-lunch coitus, which left her even hornier and hungrier for the evening's repast.

 

Severus, in turn, even helped her with grading sometimes, along with the preparations for the conference.

 

The night of Halloween was a welcome deviation from their rigorous schedule of several days. Classes were off for the day, since the students could scarcely focus, and Hermione and Snape made an appearance in the Great Hall for the holiday feast.

 

"Hm," McGonagall said, his eyes wide as she looked over both of her staff potioneers. Hermione was donned in a skintight dress that left nothing to the imagination. At a squishy ten pounds heavier since last Saturday, and a full twenty heavier since last time she'd spoken with the headmistress, Hermione was definitely a sight to see.

 

Severus also was straining at the belt, sweat on his brow from lugging around his excessive stomach, and McGonagall swallowed her disapproval. Both of them seemed puzzlingly intent on eating themselves silly, and while McGonagall didn't like it, she supposed she had to accept it. What was the alternative?

 

Still it was disgusting the way they flaunted their sexuality - neither at all ashamed as Hermione subtly expanded Severus' chair when his rear overflowed the wooden arms uncomfortably. He sighed contentedly, and squeezed hermione's own burgeoning rump, which was blossoming into a becoming the sweetest set of peaches west of Glasgow.

Both of them couldn't keep their hands off the appetizer bread rolls, and their basket had to be refilled before McGonagall could remark on the situation.

 

All she could do, she realized, was provide a stern glare whenever she managed to catch either of their eyes.

 

Not that she was able to do so much. Severus, for his part, when he managed to tear his eyes away from the feast of food before them, tantalizing them all, his eyes were devouring Hermione, in particular her breasts and expansive stomach. He clearly was under her spell, and his eyes were fierce and protective of her, but also penetrating with lustful hunger.

 

Hermione, slightly more demure and subtle in her admiration of him, stared contentedly over the heads of her students, but her eyes were glazed over and far away, and McGonagall soon saw why - the girl's hand was deep under the table in Snape's lap.

 

This would not do, but there was suddenly a clinking of glasses as her deputy headmaster Flitwick called the hall to order.

 

And then she was standing, staring at all of the students who were alternately bored or irritated. She glanced at the other members of the head table, and saw that Hermione's hands were chastely folded over her belly.

 

She didn't notice that Severus' hands were now strangely absent from the table.

 

With some relief, but also some worry, McGonagall gave a bland speech that lasted far too long in everyone else's opinion but her own, she knew. But no matter. They could wait a little more to remember that after Halloween was all hallow's day, and everyone could do with a reminder to not overdo it tonight.

 

This message, she knew, would fall on deaf ears, not the least of which would be her poor examples of potions masters, past and present.

 

She was rewarded with the knowledge of being right as she regarded them begin to eat. Severus didn't even bother to ladle himself any beef stew, simply placing a whole tureen in front of him and using the serving spoon as his own. Hermione, again, was more subtle, and placed an entire loaf of egg bread between them, out of reach of anyone else, and proceeded to use it to sop up some of the sauce from his bowl. Too quickly the entire loaf had disappeared, mostly into her belly.

 

Once the stew was extinguished; Severus settled back in his seat to rub his belly, and Hermione took an entire tray of pumpkin flat cakes and prepared them, apparently for him - wrapping them into rolls with the aid of sticky apple butter and cream.

 

Then, surprisingly, Severus sat up and, with a look of intense concentration, refilled Hermione's wine glass and fed her one of the cloyingly sweet rolls she had prepared.

 

Oh! To watch this endeavor was strangely heartening for Minerva, who liked to see Severus looking self important and useful. He certainly had a purpose now, it seemed - and it was to take care of Hermione.

 

It occurred to Minerva that Hermione might be pregnant. The amount of care and attention he was paying to her, after all, was beautiful in a way that seemed to evoke parental themes. The way Severus rubbed Hermione's belly also seemed to be suggestive of this. Of course it didn't occur to McGonagall that she'd witnessed Hermione's hands ghosting across Severus' belly earlier that evening, and hadn't come to the same conclusion. Minerva was, in fact, a bit old fashioned.

 

Indeed, Hermione's bulging belly and the couple's intensive attention towards said tummy seemed conclusive enough. Hermione was clearly pregnant. It didn't make sense otherwise.

 

McGonagall was attuned enough to realize that Severus and Hermione were unconventional enough a couple that they might consider having a child before marriage or something. So she just shook her head - Hermione was certainly eating more than the fair share her child deserves - but at least it made some sense to her.

  
  


In either case, she passed them a plate of roasted figs wrapped in bacon - one of her own favorite treats - and gave the couple a half-hearted encouraging smile.

 

Her eyes widened as she watched Severus eat about half of the delicacies while Hermione glared sternly at him, but he dutifully changed his course in due time in order to stuff his partner's face instead.

 

"Careful now," she said, her voice carrying clearly across the table. "Mind that this is the sort of food that really sticks to the ribs, Severus."

 

He grinned at her - grinned! Severus Snape was smiling! - and he said with a singsong voice, "Minerva, do you think my ribs will even notice something more sticking to them, at this rate?"

 

Then, with a laugh at her horrified eyes, he slapped his belly, sending it jiggling with a horrific motion that reminded her just how big he'd gotten.

 

Ruefully, she looked away as he laughed again, his bark strident and forceful, and then she watched him from the corner of her eye, more discreetly the rest of the dinner. He was truly gorging himself, she saw, it wasn't just his exhaustive appetite. He was going all out, as if to keep paces with Hermione.

 

Hermione. Oh the poor dear had tended towards plump towards the end of her school years, but nothing nearly so thick as she seemed to be headed. Watching as the girl scooped up another pint-sized dollop of ice cream from the central platters and swallow it all with a few hefty bites, McGonagall found herself feeling slightly queasy. The girl seemed bound and determined to eat and eat and eat, without stopping until she had truly met her limit.

 

McGonagall looked around to the students at the tables. None of them seemed to be paying attention, she thought at first, but then she saw a crowd of young Hufflepuffs that were gazing at Hermione and Severus with fascination in their eyes.

 

Oh dear lord, McGonagall thought. She hoped they weren’t about to embark on their own gluttonous journey in imitation of the staffmembers.

 

Hermione and Severus were, to McGonagall’s surprise, the first staffmembers to leave the hall. Their bloated tummies protuding before them, they made their excuses independently of one another - Severus left first, easing himself up out of his expanded chair with a groan, then disappearing outside the doors to the Great Hall - and then Hermione following, disappearing after him.

 

Both of them had, McGonagall observed, stuffed their pockets full of pastries and candy before leaving.

 

She sighed, and trudged back up to her office, feeling a bit full herself. She, however, had certainly not overdone it to the same degree that the couple had.

 

She went to her desk, and waved her hand over it. Unlike Albus, who had kept most of his organizational plots in his head, Minerva used a chalkboardlike configuration for her lists. It meant she was much more efficient, actually, than Albus ever was, since he actually tended to forget things that he didn’t think were important. But part of being the headmistress, in her opinion, was tending to all things, including those she felt were unimportant.

 

There was something on her chalkboard that she’d been worried about fulfilling. Now she could cross it off her list.

 

Albus’ portrait in the headmistress’ office woke up from its slumber as she entered.

 

“Minerva,” said Albus with a happy tone, “good to see you. And how are you this fine Halloween evening?”

 

“Terrible,” confessed Minerva, and went straight to her chalkboard. “We don’t need to worry about THIS anymore, Albus.”

 

She fiercely crossed off the list - “Help Severus Find A New Direction For His Life.”

Albus just chuckled. “And how did you manage to do this, Minerva?”

 

McGonagall rolled her eyes. “You don’t even want to know, Albus. You don’t even want to know.”

 

He just grinned at her with his twinkling eyes, and she rolled her own at him.

 

“You already know, don’t you,” she said with exasperation, settling herself down in her office.

 

Albus didn’t say anything for a moment, then said with a smile, “I know Horatio Galler, who lives in Hermione Granger’s room. Kind old gentleman. Likes to keep me informed of the latest news as it arises. Particularly related to the proclivities of one potions master researcher.”

 

Minerva threw a stale lemon drop at Albus’ portrait in response.


	36. pre halloween

Hermione and Severus had done their best to be good for the date of Halloween. They'd woken up late, luxuriating in the rare holiday.

 

"You will not be working today," Severus said sternly as Hermione rose and started reaching for the parchment and quill she had left on the bedside table. "No. I beg of you. Leave off for just the day." He grabbed her arm with a fierce grin and peppered her hand with kisses.

 

Hermione laughed. Sometimes Severus could be so immensely charming.

 

"Fine," she conceded, "but we already decided we weren't going to eat much today until the feast. How should we occupy our time?"

 

There was a glint in his eyes. "Let's go out," he said, "the day promises to be a beautiful one."

 

Hermione smiled, and nodded.

 

"Also," he said pointedly, "the exercise will do you good, young lady. You've been getting a bit round lately."

 

He pressed his fingers into her stomach, his false scorn barely hiding his glee and lust.

 

"Hmph," Hermione said, her fingers running through her abundant messy curls, "Language like that, Severus, and you won't be getting any satisfaction for that egregious cock of yours until after the feast."

 

He moaned, his hand drifting down to address his morning wood affectionately. "No, you wouldn't, witch," he bit out, the sadistic pleasure of being denied emerging in his tone.

 

"Oh certainly I would," she said, running her fingers over his thick thighs. "Just watch me deny you the satisfaction of fucking me this morning, Severus Snape."

 

His moan was low and guttural, but she could hear he had already given up trying to persuade her. She'd been finding that of the two of them, Severus was the one who took the most pleasure out of pain. She wouldn't have pinned him for a sadist in a thousand years, but the way he squirmed at the very mention of not getting what he wanted was undeniable.

 

She ran her hands over him, making him groan with the pain of unfulfilled desire.

 

"Please," he begged, with a final ounce of optimism that was entirely without effort.

 

"No," she said. And with that she bounced up and pranced to the shower.

 

Severus smirked at her ruefully as she went.

.......

She returned to find him on the phone, one hand clasping his limp cock aimlessly.

 

"Certainly, my love," he mumbled to his phone. "it isn't any trouble. No, none at all."

 

"Isn't it late in the day over there for her to be calling?" Hermione asked, and playfully squeezed his belly.

 

"Teasing vixen," he said, pressing the receiver against his cheek to mute his voice and turning his head towards Hermione. "Yes. It's Erika. She's had a bit of trouble with Jean-Raoul, and needs an ear."

 

"Take your time," Hermione said, wiping her body off. "But no ménage a un for you." She removed his hand from where it fondled his dick.

 

"Curses," he said, the pleasure palpable in his voice, "you deny me the simplest gratification of sexing you, and then you forbid me sex myself. And all this for what end?"

 

"Simply because it pleases me," said Hermione comfortably, and she bent down to dry her toes, waving her ample rump in Severus' face.

 

He groaned, and went back to his phone call. "Sorry, my dear. Someone is *very* distracting on my end."

 

Hermione grinned, taking credit with sheer delight.

 

"So what did you say to that?" He went on, turning back to the conversation seriously. Hermione acknowledged the change by going to her desk and cracking open a book. Reading wasn't work, after all. Even if it was information she could tie into her upcoming article…

 

"Mhm. I see."

 

Severus was actually a very good phone listener, Hermione realized as she listened to him. He would provide comments as needed, but mostly focused on empathic responses and thoughtful questions.

 

Maybe she didn't see it when she was interacting with him, and maybe it came out more strongly when interacting with his other girlfriend. But either way, it gave her a little fluttery feeling in her empty belly. Or maybe that was just her desire for breakfast calling. Yes, she decided her stomach growled loudly, making Severus turn his head and arch an eyebrow at her, it was her hunger.

 

She looked at Severus, who was looking increasingly grumpy, and she decided to go ahead and get them a spot of something. She clapped for Minty and ordered coffee, juice, and oatmeal for them both, then commenced her reading.

 

Severus remained on the phone with Erika until the food arrived, at which point he wished her a good morning and closed his phone.

 

"Oatmeal?" He play-raged, sitting himself down with a pout. "How is a man supposed to start his day on this muck?"

 

"McGonagall does it," hermione said with a smirk. "Good for the digestion, as she says."

 

He rolled his eyes, but dug in hungrily anyhow, serving himself in large spoonfuls.

 

He ate it all, and looked up for more. But Hermione was already sending away the rest of the tureen, and his face fell considerably.

 

"Did master not like it?" Minty was saying, surveying Severus' scowl warily.

 

"Oh no," Hermione said comfortably, "he did enjoy it. But you and the elves are not to serve him anything more until the feast tonight. Is that understood?"

 

The elf was worried at the way that Severus glowered, but as Hermione patted Minty’s shoulder gently, the elf scurried away, glancing back only once as she scampered.

 

“What,” Severus demanded, sitting with his wide legs astride, “is the meaning of this? You’re restricting me?”

 

“It’s just a bit of a diet, honey,” Hermione said smoothly, “and you shouldn’t be surprised. If you think I need exercise, oh darling, you need to take a look at yourself in the mirror.”

 

Severus growled, and looked down at himself. “What?” he said, huffily. “It’s not as though I’m *fat.*”

 

Hermione did her best to restrain her laughter. “Oh no, honey, I never meant to say that. Of course, of course you’re not fat. But you’d best be careful, or one day you’re going to wake up and be as big as a hippogriff!”

 

“Can’t a man can’t have a bit of meat on his bones without the entire country going up in arms about it?” he demanded, leaning back in his chair and looking quite smug and self-satisfied.

 

“A *bit* of meat?” she chortled, and stood up to embrace him. Her lips locked onto his, and her hand massaged his soft, unstuffed gut. “I think you’ve got a little more than a *bit* here, darling.”

 

He kissed her deeply in return, and relaxed into her massage. His stomach rumbled, and she massaged deeper, trying to help aid his digestion.

 

“You have got *quite* the gut, dear,” Hermione said, her fingers sinking pleasurably into his broad white flesh.

 

He grunted and withdrew from kissing her, and gazed down the mountainous expanse of his body. “I can still see my feet. Mostly.”

 

He bent over, and Hermione withdrew her hand.  His entire belly squished into itself like a great ball of dough being kneaded. It was of course quite big, and quite difficult to navigate, but by spreading his legs to accommodate it, he was able to bend down well enough to peer at his feet curiously. “Well, erm, now I can.”

 

“Oh, love,” Hermione clucked, and patted his shoulder sympathetically as he tried to heave himself back upright. “You’re getting too big, too big indeed, tut tut. Can you even tie your shoes on your own?”

 

“Yes,” he said, sitting back and rubbing where his belt had pinched his supple, soft skin. “But only with magic.”  

 

“Oh, darling,” Hermione said, with mock pity. “You’re too fat to tie your shoes yourself? For shame, for shame. You’d better keep to your diet, sweetheart, or you’re going to become as big as Slughorn.”

 

“How long will that take, do you suppose?” Severus asked, his smile sickly sweet with pleasure.

 

“It depends on how much he weighs,” Hermione responded cheerfully. “And lo, I actually happen to know.”

 

She stroked her own belly comfortingly as she strode to the old desk in the corner of her room. “There’s a bit of blotting paper here,” she announced, bringing back a sheet that was covered in bits of ink and scribbles, “where Slughorn was tracking his weight. This was his desk and room until he left last spring, if you recall.”

 

“No,” Severus said disbelievingly, his eyes wide as he dropped the act. “And you haven’t mentioned it to me before?”

 

“I found it earlier this year,” Hermione said, “and quite forgot about it.”

 

She unfolded the paper carefully and ran a pencil over the paper, shading in the indents from where Slughorn’s old writing was.

 

“It does appear,” Hermione said with a smirk, “that he was trying to lose weight, poor old soul. And failing miserably. Look here, he was plateauing at around 485 all through May.”

 

Severus’ face grew grim, and all of his good humor evaporated. “What am I?” he asked, his voice soft and worried. “Cast that charm,” he elaborated at her brief confusion.

 

She did, and her modified plump witch, Cozy, emerged from her wand. Cozy looked Severus from head to foot, and patted his belly warmly.

 

“You’ve been coming along nicely,” she cooed, and took out her measuring tape. “A plump 60 inches around your belly. What effort! And…” - she waved her wand - “A hefty three hundred and forty three pounds. Good gracious, you’ve been hungry.” She winked. “What a nice plump hunk of man for you, dearie,” she said, addressing Hermione. “

 

Severus did some mental calculations. “That’s about seventeen pounds in two weeks,” he said, looking stunned. “I…”

 

He looked at Hermione, frantic worry in his eyes, as if he’d been caught sneaking biscuits from the biscuit jar.

 

She smiled beatifically at him. “And how on earth is that a surprise?” she said with a radiant grin. “You’ve been eating practically nonstop, my love.”

 

“Ugh,” he groaned, not denying the obvious, and he looked down at himself, a little bit sad, and quite uncomfortable.

 

Hermione waved Cozy over to assess her, and was pleasantly surprised with the results.

 

“Ten pounds in less than seven days - good job dearheart,” Cozy announced happily, Beaming, she looked over at Severus again, who was experimentally cradling his empty belly, assessing its weight.

 

“It’s not as if it all goes there, ducky,” Cozy said with a smirk. She ran her wand along Severus’ jaw and arms, and then down to his buttocks. “You also are quite skilled at putting on weight in these areas, here.”

 

Severus hands went immediately to touch his squishy behind, and indeed he seemed satisfied with what he found there - for even he couldn’t help himself from squeezing at his joyfully round cheeks, which indeed, Hermione now saw, had taken the bulk of his new pounds.

 

Hermione crept up behind him and, without further adieu, began to frot against him, her clit begging for stimulation against his soft behind.

 

“Ai,” exclaimed Severus, spinning around and catching her against his tummy before he managed to swing her into a close, squishy embrace. “None of that, now, you said we’d have to wait until after dinner.”

 

“But now I regret that,” Hermione pouted, “now that I know how fat you’ve gotten.”

 

“Ah,” Severus said with an arched eyebrow, “but what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. Or something like that.”

 

Hermione’s hand dove underneath his belly, and hefted it in her fingers. It was so soft and squishy, and she couldn’t wait to get her clit against it.

 

“Fine,” she said, and turned away from him after a quick kiss to the cheek. “You know why it’s a good thing that we’re eating light this morning, right?”

 

Severus rolled his eyes. “It tricks the body into thinking it’s starving, and then permits us to gorge ourselves even further at the feast.”

 

Hermione grinned. “Correct.”

 

“But we already are so *good* at gorging ourselves,” Severus complained, “so bloody, bloody good.”

 

He sighed. “Erika will scarcely recognize me. I hope she realizes what she’s put me through by putting me on medication in the first place.”

 

He shook his head, and went to go put on his clothes. Hermione followed suit, and they departed for a luxurious long walk out in the moors.

  



	37. autumn walk, cookies

Autumn was proving itself to be in full swing as they trudged along through the gardens. Hermione held Severus' hand as they walked, and the sun was heavy and bright in the mid morning sky. Dry Leaves swirled around them as they walked, and shadows grew darker and longer beneath the trees and shrubs. The crunch of the leaves was almost the only sound they heard as they walked away from the castle, deeper into the woods of the forbidden forest.

 

"Squirrel," observed Hermione, noticing a flurry of fur scampering through the detritus of the forest.

Severus nodded. He was thoroughly out of breath - they had gone quite a distance, and some of it uphill - and at the next fallen tree he collapsed onto it, his massive tum heaving as he caught his wind.

 

Hermione joined him, relishing the shortness she also felt pinching at her belly, and heaved a great sigh. Her hand went, by default, to lay upon his belly, and she felt as he breathed - one, two, three - all his flesh jiggling with the effort.

 

"At this rate," Severus said, once he had recovered sufficiently, "I'm liable to be as big as Slughorn by March. If not sooner. Even if I only gain a single stone a month, and not two as has the data has demonstrated so far, I'll be as round as him come this time next year."

 

"You forget one thing," Hermione said, patting him gently on the belly, sending his jiggly mass of flesh shivering like jello. "It's not always linear, my dear. In order to get to that size, you will have to eat enough to not only gain weight, but maintain your current size. And that scales, so to speak. According to my reading."

 

He furrowed his brow and nodded, but did not respond otherwise.

 

They soon stood again, and as they continued their walk, they began talking about the conference preparations - Hermione going over her lists (which were completely memorized by now) with scrupulous attention, and Severus responding with comments and reminders.

 

The sun was bright, but did little to keep the chill of autumn away from them. The wind was brisk and cool, and They found their place slowing as Hermione snuggled deeper and deeper into Severus' warm tummy, until finally they were at a standstill.

 

"Mm," Hermione moaned, "let's change the subject, shall we?"

 

Severus didn't need another cue, his lips diving into hers with rapt attention, and he made liberal use of his tongue in his exertions despite his holdover heavy breathing from walking. It was actually way sexy, Hermione felt, that he needed her so badly that he couldn't be arsed to wait until he'd caught his breath. It felt as though he needed her more than breath itself, though she knew that was a fantasy.

 

After some minutes, he broke away from her and looked around. "I need to get off my feet," he said. "This fat arse can't hold itself up much longer."

 

Hermione giggled. He glared.

 

"This is no laughing matter," he said, his tone dark. "I'm going to fold over if I don't sit. Now."

 

She smiled and patted his arse, and grabbed hold of its tempting softness. "Okay," she agreed, and he made a beeline for a large flat rock.

 

It was cold to the touch, but they sat upon it anyways, and cuddled each other against the chill wind.

 

"You're so comfortable," Hermione mused, "it's going to be hard to persuade me to move."

 

He groaned in response. "Improbable but true," he responded, and he kissed her on the top of her head. “Why on earth do you like me?”

 

Then his stomach growled.

 

"Curses," he said, and then looked up in surprise as Hermione pressed a cookie into his palm. "What's this?" He asked, a sense of delight in his voice.

 

Hermione grinned. "Do you think I'd let my man go hungry?"

 

"It seems a bit out of character," he agreed with a snort, and he inhaled the cookie without further comment.

 

Then, like a keen-nosed dog, he looked at her expectantly.

 

Hermione feigned surprise. "What?" She asked with a smirk.

 

He glared at her with a sense of piteousness that was somehow as disconcerting as a Great Dane making puppy eyes

 

"No more," she said, hands open in innocence. "That's all I got. Just enough to get the edge off."

 

"No?" Severus said, then rolled his eyes. "You fail to understand how this works, Hermione," he said forcefully. "There's no such thing as getting the edge off my hunger. Such a small crumb as that only serves to whet my appetite and make it worse. Are you prepared to deal with the consequences?"

 

"In other words," Hermione said with a laugh, "if you give a mouse a cookie...?"

 

He didn't get it, and that shone in his face as he frowned with confusion.

 

"After your time, I suppose," she said helplessly. "Serves me right for dating a man twice as old as I am."

 

"What are you saying?" Severus said, his voice stern and his eyes glimmering with false affront. "My dear, have you deigned to such abuse as to calling me both fat, and old, in the same morning?"

 

She liked where this was going. Her subby Severus was folding away in favor of his more precocious, dommy self.

 

She liked that they both were switches. A lot.

 

"I don't mean it that way," she said, her voice growing tremulous with mock despair, "only, you can't dispute with facts, and you are so very much bigger than me, and so very much more experienced..."

 

"Experienced?" Severus scoffed, but he was grinning ear to ear. "I'll show you experienced."

 

Then with a wave of his hand, the rock became mattresslike, a soft bed of velvet, and he thrust Hermione down on it with a firm grasp. She gasped and began to breathe heavily as she felt his raging erection against her soft thigh.

 

Then she saw his soft, soft belly hanging over her, and the way it hung off him was so tantalizing and alluring. It was as if someone had inserted an enormous bowl of pudding under his skin and carelessly sewed it on so that it sagged heavily. When he moved, it followed, swinging pendulumlike in his wake, accentuating every movement he made.

 

"Oh yes," Severus said, from his crouching position over her, his manly breasts sagging and heaving with his deep stabilizing breaths, "there *will* be consequences."

 

Hermione whined with lust as his teeth came down on her earlobe, and he was nipping her and biting her, making her shriek with laughter and attraction.

 

He wanted her - desired her - and was prepared to fight to have her.

 

She had a momentary glimpse into her past, thinking of Ron and Harry and their silliness about her - and she realized that, yes, she did actually find that attractive. And hot. The possessiveness, the fierceness, the loyalty, the animalistic predatory eyes of a lover just wanting her...

 

Okay maybe that last part wasn't something Ron and Harry could manage for her. But Severus - oh he could. He could!

 

So much of their relationship, she realized, tied up into animalistic themes. Their singleminded attraction towards fatness was so much like woodland mammals preparing for hibernating all winter, embracing good days of plenty with gusto until the days of scarcity came again.

 

As Severus grabbed her by the hair and lifted her head up to kiss her all the better, she bit along his growing heavy chin and he growled, snapping her back into her role.

 

There was something primeval about their relationship, she decided, or maybe it was just the fact that they were out of doors that morning.

 

Either way, enough was enough. She reached for his tummy, which seemed tired of hanging off his bitter old bones, and massaged it, teasing him by letting her fingers wander further and further down every casual circle she made.

 

"Yes," Severus said with a hiss, and without a fuss flopped onto his back and closed his eyes against the sight of the trees and blue sky that shone through them.

 

He was so beautiful there, in his black satin waistcoat that was turning salt and pepper grey with the stretching spells it had endured, black high-collared shirt, and black wizard trousers that groused at their fruitless duties of keeping Severus' massive belly contained from the public eye. His cloak spread out behind him elegantly, and as he lay there, eyes closed expectantly, he grasped it with one fine-boned but plump hand.

 

"You're so immensely attractive," Hermione whispered, her hand delicately laying upon his upper thigh.

 

He took a deep, deep breath, as if summoning patience.

 

"You're not doing it," he observed, neutral of tone.

 

"No," Hermione said, moving her butt onto the warmth of his cloak and her legs so that she could sit cross legged.

 

"You're not going to," Severus said next, opening one eye drearily, like a woken dragon.

 

She moved herself slightly closer to him. "Delayed gratification is all the sweeter for its delay," she murmured.

 

He snorted.

 

"Don't quote Robinicouse at me," he snorted. "What a terrible potions master he was."

 

"A better philosopher than potioneer," agreed Hermione, letting her eyes wander to a falling leaf. It seemed to fall so gently on the breeze, caught by a nearly sentient wind that seemed captivated by the beautiful thing.

 

The air swirled around it, and it landed gently on her upper thigh.

 

"Don't you think the world is more sentient than we give it credit for?" Hermione mused.

 

He grunted, and his stomach growled.

 

"What do you mean?" He asked aloud.

 

Without replying at first, Hermione leaned over the edge of the stone and grabbed her bag to retrieve another biscuit for her lover.

 

Thoughtfully, she put the biscuit on the tip of his nose, touching his lip. He didn't move for a moment, didn’t even open his eyes, but she saw a glimpse of tongue experimentally creep out from between his lips. Then, with a voracious smack, he opened his mouth and entrapped the biscuit whole, leaving only crumbs.

 

"Please tell me there's more where that came from," he begged, wiping off his face with his sleeve and sitting up with a great effort of will.

 

Sitting there on the stone, she admired him - his tummy spread so beautifully across his lap it had to be considered poetry in its own right. It was too beautiful, like a flower on a cake, made with buttercream.

 

"No, I'm sorry," Hermione said, "that was in fact the last one."

 

"You minx," he said, his eyes lighting up. "I don't believe you for one second."

 

"Check my bag," she responded with glee.

 

He nodded, though looked quite suspicious, and bent down to grasp her bag. It was indeed empty of biscuits, according to what he could see. And there were no concealment charms of any sort that could be detected.

 

"You've got more, I know it," he said, laying back upon the cloak and raising his arm in a melodramatic sigh, "but I am too famished to contemplate how to find them."

 

Hermione just giggled, and grabbed him eagerly around his soft middle. Which led to more kisses. Which led to very delicious snogging. In fact, Hermione was rather surprised that they even got back to the topic they'd started at all. But as they lay there on the rock, his hand tousled her hair.

 

"So," he said, eyes bright and keen. "Universal sentience. Would you like to expound upon your theory?"

 

Hermione barely bit back herself from making the pun in "expound" more obvious than it already was, But she held her tongue, and managed to retain her dignity.

 

"It occurs to me that there's a concept in arithmancy that all elements of an equation have various configurations that are possible based on specific building blocks indiscernible to us," Hermione said, her giddy smile fading as she got more thoughtful. "And that same concept is used in muggle chemistry, as I'm sure you well know."

 

"Indeed," Severus affirmed. "Bonds, atoms, and elements."

 

"Precisely," Hermione said, picking at her thumbnail absently. "There are many ways that one atom can bond together to make particles, but there are not an unlimited number of ways to bond. Some elements bond together, others do not, and it has to do with which ones are compatible."

 

Severus nodded. His head tilted towards hers, and he gently touched his finger to her face, gazing into her eyes when she turned her head.

 

She kissed him tenderly on the nose.

 

“I’m thinking other things might be like that, too,” she murmured, and laid another kiss on his cheek. “Certain people work well with some, and not well with others. It has to do with which ones are compatible.”

  
He snorted, but kissed her cheek in response as well, gathering her up into his squishy lap and snuggling her close, holding her like a bundle of sticks in his arms. “Elementary, my dear Hermione.”

 

She didn’t notice the pun for a moment, and then she fake-slapped him in the face. He chortled and kissed her.

 

“So we’re talking about micro, micro parts, when we’re talking about atoms and such,” Hermione said, “but I think that elements that are a little bit larger also have similar forms of attraction. You know how in some potions, the ingredients don’t bond unless they’re facing north? Or how other ingredients simply cannot be mixed successfully, ever, even in a floating medium, like horehound and bursieweed?”

 

Severus was looking a bit more serious than he had been, and he nodded. “Yes,” he said, his fingers playing with the buttons on her silky bodice, “that does indeed make quite a bit of sense.”

 

“So for example,” Hermione went on, “this leaf, which just fell from the tree. I believe it might have some elemental attraction to me, somehow, and that’s why it landed on my lap.”

 

“Ah,” Severus said with a groan, “and now you’ve lost me.”

 

“Why,” Hermione said, “this is by far the most scientific ontology of existence I’ve ever heard of, or come up with.”

 

“Sure,” Severus said, shaking his head, “but, Hermione,” he pleaded, “does everything truly have to have some sort of explanation?” He paused, and looked at her with a deep sense of sadness. “Isn’t it enough to just… be?”

 

This was certainly a surprise to Hermione, who was certainly more likely to expect Severus Snape to demand a more rigorous explanation and then drive holes into her arguments as she presented them.

 

“Why,” she murmured, “of course? But I’m curious, Severus… why are you so copacetic about this? I’d have expected something else.”

 

“What would you expect?” Severus asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

 

“I… I don’t know,” Hermione flailed, “I feel like your beliefs about the universe would be far more complex than zen, that’s all.”

 

His face grew dark, and he dropped his arms and gazed steadily at her. “Hermione Jean Granger,” he said seriously, “I have been tortured. I have been used as a pawn in a great meaningless drama by two wizards with inflated egos who couldn’t be sure that I wasn’t disposable at a moment’s notice. I’ve been isolated by my allies, left adrift on the merest shred of doubt, and moreover have deserved every bit of abuse because I was fucked up over a girl who had told me she wasn’t interested right at the start of puberty.

 

“And what’s more,” he continued,  “I’ve killed. I’ve even participated in darker things than killing. Am I supposed to believe that there’s some elemental attraction that my soul has towards the darkness? Am I supposed to believe that every action I’ve done has been one out of a small range of choices I had based on my chemical makeup?”  He paused. “Am I supposed to believe that I can’t change, and I can’t have changed since?”

 

Hermione was about to argue - her theory completely allowed for mutability - but she wasn’t about to argue with the man who looked as close to tears as she’d ever seen him.

 

“You’re right,” she murmured, and leaned forward. “I let my fat arse get in the middle of things. I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t think.”

 

“Think next time,” he said, his eyes sad and staring off in the distance.

 

Hermione drew herself closer to him, and his arms resumed their close embrace.

 

…………….

 

Soon they were walking again, holding hands as they crunched through the leaves and drew their cloaks more tightly around their shoulders. Severus was more quiet, less playful than before, and was clearly brooding.  

 

“For… for what it’s worth,” Hermione said, trying to break the silence, “McGonagall said of you that you’d both changed, and not changed nearly as much as I thought. She says she saw the goodness in you long before you could see it yourself.” While it was a paraphrase, she felt like her words were capturing the spirit of the headmistress’ words.

 

Severus just grunted, not looking at her, but he squeezed her hand a bit more tightly.

 

“Let’s stop again,” he said, as he nearly tripped over a cluster of toadstools, “do you have your gloves?”

 

Hermione wasn’t about to be caught twice without her gardening gloves on a casual hike with Severus, so she did indeed have them.

 

As Severus knelt down and prepared to collect the little red things, his stomach growled again. “Dammit,” he murmured, mostly out of pretense, but Hermione, successfully surprised him by wrapping herself around him and popping another biscuit in his mouth.

 

“Why, if I wasn’t already down here,” he said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “I’d  get up and fuck you here on the forest floor, my vixen.”

 

“Got to keep your strength up, darling,” Hermione said with a smile, and then proceeded to get down and help him with the toadstools.

 

……….

 

They worked together quite some time, and then Hermione realized he’d completely tricked her into doing work on a day he’d claimed to leave free of work. “Severus,” she complained, and sat herself down next to him. “I’m horny. Let’s have sex, please?”

 

“Here?” he asked, looking up. His forehead was shiny from the exertions, and he readjusted himself carefully. He’d been sitting on his feet as he squatted, and he clearly was regretting that choice as he unfolded himself painfully.

 

“Or, you know, anywhere,” Hermione said with a singsong kind of voice. “I’m happy to do it anywhere that you like, my dear.”

 

He looked around, winced as he moved his leg - “Pins and needles,” he explained testily - and then motioned at a boulder that wasn’t very flat. “How about there?” he asked, “it looks so round it’s nearly spherical.”

 

“Yeah,” Hermione said, “do you think you can actually clamber on there, though?”

 

He glared at her meaningfully. “Severus Snape does *not* clamber,” he said with a haughty snarl.

 

“Oh,” Hermione said with a palm to the forehead. “Flying. Right.”

 

Severus took the moment to stand up and arch his back. “What time is it?”

 

Hermione glanced at her watch. “Two hours before the feast.”

 

“Merlin,” he said, and cracked his back. “This took longer than I thought,”

 

“Yes,” Hermione said, and looked at the boulder. Indeed, as she looked at it, she realized why he pointed it out. It was as round and spherical as a belly, she realized, and a little bit flat on the top. Then she had an idea. “Yes,” she said again, and with an effort, she floated up on top of the rock. “Wait a moment.”

 

He nodded, clearly not going anywhere until his legs had recovered from their numbness, and he sat on his plump rear, tying bags of mushrooms.

 

Hermione, for her part, ran her wand over the rock face, wishing and transfiguring it to be something that even Severus could appreciate.

 

The rock became less and less granite, and more and more fleshy. Soft, grayish, pale softness began to emerge, with the dappled colors of stretch marks, shiny and grey where they'd been massaged into submission by a lazy owner. The rock began to grow softer, more squishy, and soon to touch there was nothing making it resemble a rock at all, other than the color. The thing had become a giant belly, and Hermione felt her stress melt away as she relaxed into it.

 

“Ready when you are,” she called to Severus, who experimentally flew a few hops, then leaped up on top of the boulder. He sank into it with a sigh of bliss.

 

“Oh,” he murmured, “I… Hermione, can’t we forgo our sex ban and do it, now, right here?”

 

“I’d say yes,” Hermione said, her smile cheeky. “But then what would be the after-dinner incentive?”

 

“More sex,” he said, and tried to tackle her. Hermione ducked him playfully, allowing him to fall into the generously endowed boulder of fat.

 

“We will have to return here then, witch,” he said fiercely, “we’ll leave a trail of breadcrumbs so we remember how to find it again.”

 

“Is that a Hansel and Gretel reference?” Hermione asked with a laugh. “Oh, of course that would be the childhood Muggle fairy tale that you’d remember best.”

 

“And why shouldn’t it be?” Severus asked with a soft smile. “I don’t suppose Hansel’s side of the story was ever adequately told.”

 

“Would you like to roleplay that at some future date?” Hermione asked, crouching over Severus. It was a surreal experience, to be both straddling a jiggling mound of (real) Severus-fat as well as on top of a jiggling mound of (simulated) magical fat.

 

His eyes were hungry. “Without a doubt,” he murmured, “I’d love to now, if I didn’t want to spoil my appetite for the feast.”

 

Hermione nodded. “We can luxuriate here for a few moments, though.”

 

She settled down on top of the velvety mound of belly fat that comprised the boulder, and Severus hugged her tightly, smelling in her scent deeply. “You’re good enough to eat,” he said with a darkly carniverous voice, and Hermione just kissed him in response.

 

“You’ve been so good today,” she murmured, “just a little bit more, and you can feast to your heart’s content in the Great Hall.”

 

“Only if you do so with me,” he answered with a subtly happy voice, and Hermione kissed him fervently.

  
“Of course.”

 

 


	38. post halloween

Halloween night was spectacular.

"I've got a great idea," Hermione said, as they tripped up the stairs to their rooms two by two. "I want to dress up."

He gave her a stern look. "Haven't you teased me enough, witch?"

"Fine," she said, and shook her head. "I wish I knew more clothing spells. But I can manage. Give me five minutes once we get in? I'll slip out of this in the dining room, so you can have the pleasure of watching me struggle out of this, and then dress in the bedroom in my costume."

"Ugh," he agreed with a sigh, "fine. The combination of a strip tease and food has allayed me. You have until I finish these pastries I brought from the Great Hall."

"That's just enough time," she said, and then realized that if left unattended with her pastries, those would likely be gone as well. "Just know I'll be taking the contents of my pockets with me when I go to change."

He sighed with a deep sense of aggravation. "Curses," he said, "and just when I had planned to take all of your pumpkin pasties and eat them whilst you were occupied."

Hermione just giggled, and generously tucked one of hers into his hand as they went. They were going slower after the first flight of stairs, and Severus' hand was sweaty with the effort, but he stuffed the confection in his mouth and chewed it as they went.

...............

The plan went off as expected. Hermione nearly had to use butter to get herself out of the too-tight dress, and Severus chortled at every mistake she made in removing it, but it was finally off, and her growing belly - complete with red stretch marks - was finally available for viewing.

"You look so delicious," he moaned, standing up from his place at the table and approaching her. "You. Me. Bedroom. Now."

"Not yet," said Hermione with a squeal, ducking from his grasp. "I'll be even more delicious in a moment, I promise."

"It'd better be good," Severus called as she ran into the bedroom as fast as her chubby legs could carry her.

Within a few moments, Hermione was ready. She hadn't really had the time, leisure, or opportunity to wear a truly fantastical costume since she was quite young, and even then she'd tended to be practical and less whimsical.

But now she had someone to be creative for, and it was exciting to try and do something new.

She called Minty and had Minty help her achieve her costume. With a mixture of agar gum, chocolate custard, and sugar, she coated herself with the sticky residue, most particularly her vaginal area. Then Minty laid out an assortment of candy from the Halloween feast, varying from chocolate frogs to candy corn to caramels to peanut butter balls to jelly worms, as well as crushed chocolate biscuits. All of this was laid out on a tarp on the floor, and Hermione laid down and rolled her fattening body in it, but not before putting her hair into a cotton-candy towel to prevent it from getting too icky.

"Oh gods," she whispered as she finally sat up, her body covered in the delicious potpourri, "I wish I could absorb all this instead if having Severus eat it all off me."

"I wish so as well, Mistress," Minty said with a smile, "for that would be wonderful magic indeed."

"Indeed," Hermione said, and stood up. She proceeded to magic her body with a stasis charm, to keep everything in place, and then she rose and walked out into the dining room.

It had taken her a little longer than she had expected, and Severus had stuffed himself with all of the pastries both of them had brought back, and he was sitting in his chair with a self-satisfied smirk while rubbing his bloated belly. He sat straighter at the sight of Hermione, and his jaw dropped.

"Well!" he exclaimed, and stood with a laborious effort, and approached her warily. "Witch," he said as he carefully touched her. "What new madness is this?"

"Don't you want to devour every inch of me?" Hermione begged, and as she was wont to expect, he nodded solemnly.

"Come," he said, and gestured to the bedroom. "Let's finish this feast with our desert."

 

........................ I may add the smut that goes here, but I might not ..................

That Saturday, the first Saturday of November, Hermione was pleased to have a new dress after a short few minutes picking out new robes. It was long, and blue, and fluttered at her ankles with a crepe chine fabric that was laced with ribbons. It had delicate embroidery across the whole thing, especially at the neckline. And moreover, she had a little room to grow to fit her burgeoning body.

Now at the tipping point between the late 190s and early 200s, she was ready to make the final push forwards to grow her body over the hump she'd struggled with for days. And then some.

Severus emerged from the dressing room at the low-end clothier's in Knockturn Alley. Jeremiah Horn, the proprietor, brushed some loose threads off the shoulders of Severus' robes.

"Well?" Severus asked with an arched eyebrow.

Hermione, ever pensive, played it up a little.

"Turn a bit," she motioned.

He did so, slowly.

"Faster," she insisted, and he obliged. The resulting flourish was distinctly perfect for him.

"Hm," Hermione said, casting her eye over the other clothing he had tried on in the past hour. Honestly, he was taking longer than she had, and that was probably because he actually was more vain than she was.

But, this set he was wearing was perfect, and also inevitably the most expensive. Hermione wasn't about to let her man overspend for something if she could help it. She had read long and hard about bargaining practices in preparation for this trip, and she'd be damned if they'd go to waste!

"I think the one without the buttons was a bit more flattering," Hermione said, a hint of disapproval in her voice. "Given how big you've gotten recently, Severus, I have to say that you've got to look at options that de-accentuate your tum. Not make it look like you're showing it off."

He growled at her, but not for the reasons poor Mr. Horn probably assumed. The shopkeeper was looking back and forth between the couple, as if to assess who was paying his bill. Then, with a shrug, he seemed to side with Hermione. "Mr. Snape," he said, a twinge of regret in his face, "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to agree with your wife on this one."

Severus' eyes were cold and clear, and he approached the man, who was in his mid thirties or so, and deeply underwhelmed.

He crossed his arms and stared deeply into the man's eyes. Mr. Horn took a step back. Severus did not intimidate him further.

"You were in my 7th year potions class the year I became an instructor at Hogwarts," Severus said, his voice dropping dangerously. "Do you remember?"

Mr. Horn's eyebrows rose by several inches. "Oh. Professor Snape," he said, recognition dawning on his face. "Of course I remember you."

He didn't bother to add the following, but they were clear to read on his face:

1\. I didn't recognize you, particularly since you've got fat  
2\. You still scare the living daylights out of me

"That's right," Severus said, and gestured to Hermione. "And my wife, as you called her, is none other than Hermione Granger, without whom the present wizarding world would be a sorry sight indeed."

"Of course," Mr. horn said, taking off his glasses and wiping them, as if they were the cause of his egregious faux pas. They might very well have been, for that matter - they were very thick. "Pardon me, Professor. You certainly did your part in ensuring the wizarding world's safety as well."

"Indeed," Severus said, his tone as dripping with poison as Hermione ever had heard, "maybe just enough to correct half the things I did to terrorize it as well."

Mr. Horn seemed on the verge of cowering, so Hermione cast Severus a warning glance. He read the signal and nodded. "Enough," he said with a wave of his hand. "I'm just an old man on a shit research pension, shuttered away so I can dodder to my heart's content and hopefully forget my role in the ruin of this world."

Mr. Horn looked as if he'd been thrust into a corner. "Well then," he said to Severus, putting his spectacles back on, "I seem to have stepped in it quite thoroughly."

Severus didn't deign to respond, and Hermione took that cue as well. She wasn't going to trip up the man's game.

Severus then proceeded to wistfully stare into the mirror, brushing down the front with a heavy sigh.

"This is out of my price range, I think," he said, smoothing out the wrinkles that formed at his bulging tum, "I always did like buttons, however."

"If you start your diet, like you're supposed to," Hermione conceded, "you might just look fetching in it."

"But again, the expense," murmured Severus, and began to undo the buttons with a sense of futility borne of setting his dreams too high.

The shop-keeper quickly dashed into the back room to consult with the man who was previously introduced as his assistant, but was clearly something more important than that, and the men scurried back together.

"We'd like," said Mr. Horn, "to offer you a discount. Given our suppliers gave us a cut rate on this particular shipment-"

"-Since it was on clearance," cut in the man introduced as Mr. Grace,

"We'd like to offer this to you at ten percent off," finished Mr. Horn. "Is that acceptable to you, Professor Snape?"

Severus made a show of looking into his wallet, and he looked dismally at his scarce galleons. "I wish it were," he said helplessly, "but as you see, I've only got ten galleons here."

The men exchanged a telepathic glance between each other.

"We can do that," said Mr. Grace, and Mr. Horn added, "Yes, certainly we can. That's generous of you, Professor Snape. Most generous indeed. And considering everything you've done for our world, well, it seems only proper that you get some benefit of it."

Severus made a show of denying the discount, but they were insistent, and soon Severus was ushered out of the shop with a collection of new items along with the robes he liked so much, and once they got out the door and Mr. Grace and Mr. Horn had closed the door with a bang, Severus grinned outright at Hermione.

"That was a good showing," he said comfortably, "but I do hope you weren't serious about your diet."

"Oh," Hermione said with a grin of her own, "I was quite serious."

His face quirked, as if he could guess where she was going.

"I'm fully on board with you having a diet where you try as fast as you can to wear these robes out, and then going back shamefacedly to get a bigger size by May of this coming year," she said with a laugh, and he snorted.

"You're so predictable," he said fondly, and as she glanced at him with teasing admonishment, he amended, "in the best sense of the word."

"Is there a best sense of the word?" she asked, and she danced onward through the alley in front of him.  
.............

They stopped at a not-often-frequented luncheon joint serving Jamaican food. They were notably the only non-persons of color in the place, which was sparsely attended even at the lunch hour.

"It's disgraceful, this artificial segregation," Hermione said as they were served curried goat with beans, and rice, with fried plantains on the side. "I had no idea Knockturn Alley existed when McGonagall first took me through Diagon Alley. And come to think of it, I don't think I saw any non-white shopkeepers there when I went the first time. I remember thinking it was so tremendously strange."

"It's truly a novelty for Lee Jordan to be working at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, that's for sure," Snape agreed, and scraped out the remaining rice from the family-sized serving bowl they'd been given.

"Well, it's not right," Hermione said, a fire burning in the pit of her stomach - unrelated to her happy gustatory experiences with digesting the heavy, fatty food. "The Wizarding World simply doesn't have language to talk about race. From when I first entered Hogwarts, I don't think I have ever heard anyone talk about persons of color at all."

"Whereas the Muggles have actually got language for it, I suppose," Severus remarked. He popped more fried plantains in his mouth. "But that doesn't mean they're better about it."

"No," Hermione agreed, "no, this is more subtle, but in some ways less important in the wizarding world. We're still getting over the idea that people born of Muggles are significantly worse than people born of 'pure' heritage." She groaned. "Oh. Wait. Never mind. While not all Muggleborns are persons of color, persons of color in the wizarding world are ONLY Muggleborn, or born of Muggleborns."

"Excellent observation," Severus said with a sigh. "And where do most of them end up, come to think of it?"

"Gryffindor," Hermione said, and her heart nearly broke at the realization. "At least we are welcoming there."

Severus shrugged. "Perhaps? I can't tell for sure. Your class was among the most diverse that we'd ever had previously, that's for certain."

Hermione nodded. "As time goes on, I imagine it will continue to go in the right direction. Though there's so much in the way of subliminal racism..."

She looked around them. "Like Fortescue's has a queue around the street at this time of day. Where are the people here, or at that Lassi shop across the way?"

Severus shook his head. "Do I even need to say? This is Knockturn Alley. Only poor people, and scheming people, ever enter."

 

The point was well taken, and they finished eating in relative quiet.  
..........

They returned to Severus' rooms, and with a few sweeping gestures, he put away his new clothes. "Thank you for... persuading me," he said, sounding a trifle grateful. "I needed it."

"You're certainly quite welcome," Hermione said, wrapping herself around him and poking his belly fondly. "I will miss seeing how your clothes strain to contain you, for a while, but it's a sacrifice made with a long-term investment in mind."

"Ah," Severus said, reclining on the sofa and popping a number of biscuits into his mouth, "And what is that investment?"

"The process of watching you grow out of your new clothes," Hermione said, and found herself squirming with pleasure and delight. "What a treat that will be."

"Hm. A challenge," he said, meeting her eyes and quirking a smile. "You know I always am up for a challenge."

"Yes," Hermione said, and she seated herself at the dining table. They had an unfinished chess game there, floating over the remnants of their morning's breakfast - a few croissants and other pastries remained, as well as some Halloween candy the elves had brought them, leftovers from the feast. "I know you are."

She motioned him over to the table, and he obliged. As they settled down to playing the game, and continuing to snack, Severus slipped his feet out of his shoes, and Hermione did the same, and their feet nestled together under the table as they focused.


	39. cursed tree, neville sleepy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fun updates everyone! growing - fatmolly dot tum blr dot com is the new place for meta-updates about this story.Hey all!
> 
> I really appreciate kind reviews (smileyface)
> 
> please please leave reviews on every chapter if you can, even though I've been updating a lot lately. they really make life a lot better for me. Because, as you might guess, the sun is cold and dark and all is lost. Welcome... to Growingvale. 
> 
> (okay sorry not really but did you know there's WG Night Vale fiction?!?! Some of it is REALLY GOOD. Happy happy joy joy.)
> 
> ALSO FUNTIMES AHEAD I've commissioned several new art pieces for this fic and have tried to provide a fair rate for my artists. I'm really excited. If you have an interest in being part of the next batch, please contact me at molly dot weisser 11 at gmail dot com.

  
Hermione had truly gotten into the swing of things, and found herself getting hungry even at odd intervals when she previously would never be hungry.

Severus, ever in his quest for scientific precision, had her wear a button that correlated to a spreadsheet. Whenever she felt the gnaw of hunger within her, she was supposed to tap the button, and it would tally the number of times she tapped it per day.

It was fascinating for her to see the results. Her hunger was actually increasing, and proportionately so was her calorie intake. (She would check in with Cozy daily at this point, and add her statistics to the spreadsheet.)

She was happy to discover that she had, practically overnight, catapulted from her waffling between 199 and 200 to finally a firm 205, and she luxuriated in the feeling. Now that she had worked out the plateau, she felt certain that her gain there forward would be steady, and augmenting with every pound. On her five-foot frame, her plumpness was becoming more and more undeniable, and she was sure she was reaching the threshold of social unacceptability. Particularly given how the dresses she wore were tight on her body.

"It's relatively easy to put on weight, I've found, the heavier you are," Severus said, staring at his figure with bewilderment the second crisp Saturday morning in November. They were walking around the lake, since Severus insisted they get regular exercise daily. Hermione, with her indoorsy attitude and bookish hobbies, knew the virtues of exercise, but rarely would take part in it of her own volition, despite her good sense kicking her.

But, Severus had once been an inveterate exerciser, with his running around the castle all night caused by his mania, and truly loved it, despite how he'd fallen off the wagon for so long. So he'd been getting them both up early to go on walks every day for half an hour before breakfast. Longer on weekends, he promised.

"I suppose it just has to do with ratios," Hermione said, sitting at the base of a charred tree where she'd paused to rest, "proportionately it's similar to a snowball - when you start off, the surface area is small, but then as you increase that surface area, the increase multiplies the ability to congeal fat to the body. Or something."

"I wouldn't say that," Severus said, taking her arm and walking with her along the perimeter of the lake. "Instead, I'd hazard the guess that it is something more to do with units of measurement - the unit of measurement, the pound, does not adapt to the body's natural proportional changes. As in, from a proportional perspective, one pound is to a 100-pound person the same as 4 pounds is to a 400 pound person. In other words, for a 400 pound person, 1 pound has a disproportionate amount of impact, I imagine, than it has to a smaller person, and vice versa. And with every additional pound added to one's frame, the value of the pound deflates."

"Are you all right?" Hermione interjected, "you sound a bit off, my dear."

He laughed with a hint of manicness, and shook his head. "No, I'm not. I just used economics to explain a question of biology. Fancy that. And if you would examine that for a moment-"

"-I do think you're right," Hermione said, and stopped them gently. "But I still sense there's something amiss with you. You're rambling."

He tried to pull them onwards, but she held tightly to him, and he took a deep breath as he realized she was anchoring him to the spot. "You're sensing that I'm...uncomfortable," he said, taking a deep breath. His round cheeks were flushed with the vigorous exertions of the day, and his face was very pale and white. "I suppose it's worth telling you why."

He inclined his head gravely towards the charred tree she'd been sitting under.

"That tree," he said simply, "is the cursed one."

Hermione's eyebrows knitted together.

"What do you mean by that?"

He looked at her with a small amount of quizzicalness. "You mean to say... you never saw my memories?"

"No," she said, "at least not ones involving trees."

"Oh," he said, and sighed. "Then let me illuminate you. But first, let us leave this area."

Hermione nodded, and followed him, arm in arm.

They settled down at a bank on the diametric opposite of the tree, and they sat on the dead grass, which waved damply in the morning breeze.

"I'll keep this short," he said, as Hermione's hand squeezed itself into the place between his right breast and his belly, to keep her warm. "I have no desire to go over it with more detail than is absolutely necessary."

"I hear you," Hermione said, and she listened as he briefly and concisely described the travails he'd had with James Potter and the Levicorpus incident, and how it culminated with his loss of Lily's friendship. At the end of it, Severus was staring off into space, shaking ever so slightly, only noticeable because of the way his stomach jiggled.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered, touching his shoulder gently. "That must have been traumatic."

"It was," Severus said darkly, "but not nearly so much as all that followed once I joined the Death Eaters."

Hermione didn't know what to say, so she just asked, "Do you want a hug?" and he nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

They remained there for almost an hour, Hermione whispering sweet comforts to him while he did his best to keep from weeping.

But by the end of it, he'd come to a conclusion.

"I shouldn't be crying," he said, taking deep slow breaths in and out. "Because while I have lost so much in this world, Hermione... I have started to find some things as well."

"Perhaps so," Hermione said, kissing him gently on the cheek, "but your pain is still real and valid."

"And will probably never go away," he returned, placing his face on her warm skin, "for it is nearly as much a part of me as anything else. But I have hope," he went on, clasping her to him more tightly, "and I hope that I can have some small amount of happiness on this earth."

Hermione's mind went involuntarily back to September, when Severus had, in his fearsome way, declared that he had 'ambiguous feelings towards living.' And, in that moment, she really felt both powerful and vulnerable. Despite him not coming outright and saying it, he was saying that she had changed him, and changed how he felt about life, living, and the pursuit of happiness. There was great power and great responsibility in this knowledge, that she had indeed changed him to be something a little bit better.

"I'm so glad you feel that way," she murmured, and kissed him at the top of his head, since it was easily accessible to her lips.

Somehow this gentle motion seemed to set him off completely, and his quiet shaking and weeping emerged into outright sobbing on her shoulder. She just stroked his shoulder, secure in the knowledge that he had years of tears to cry - and so did she - but he'd been doing so much more, for so much longer, and for so much less reward. And all he wanted now was to be cared for, a little bit.

She could do that for him. She was happy to.

...

Her caregiver emotions must have been in full swing at that point, because when Severus went upstairs to take a nap - it was, he claimed, the best way to put him back in the right frame of mind - Hermione went to the library.

And who should be there, but Neville.

The poor boy was rail-thin, his cheeks haggard and empty with the illness that raged within him, and Hermione felt her heart weep to see her fellow classmate and professor in such a state.

"Neville?" she asked, and approached him tenderly.

She discovered that the young man, in reading, had fallen fully asleep on his book. He was trying to prep for his class the next day, she could see, and he wasn't very far along.

"Neville?" she asked, and gently brushed his shoulder.

He sat up with a start, knocking his quill and other sundry items onto the floor.

"Hermione?" he said, his voice cracking a little, "Erm, hello."

"Hello," she said smoothly, "may I sit with you?"

Neville's eyes looked Hermione up and down warily, as if assessing whether her newfound belly was contagious, and then muttered, unenthusiastic, "Sure."

"Jolly good," Hermione said, though wasn't sure where that unusual amount of exuberance came from. "So you're prepping for your lessons, I see?"

"Yes," Neville said, trying to break a smile, but Hermione saw his heart simply wasn't in it. He proceeded to clear his throat, and ask in a good-natured way, "Have you heard from Luna lately?"

"No," Hermione said, not sure what he was expecting. "Have you?"

"Yes," Neville said, and sighed. "She found out somehow about what was happening... with me... and has been sending me exotic herbs and such from all over the world. It's very sweet," he went on, blathering a bit, "but she doesn't understand that we won't work, we can't work, and that's all there is to it. I'm pretty sure she thinks that she and I are just figuring things out, not irrevocably broken up."

Hermione sighed. This was just like Luna.

"Not that I mind her sending me rare herbs with strange medicinal properties that might be useful to me in my illness," Neville went on sadly, "but I'm simply afraid she's putting her heart where she oughtn't, you understand?"

"Yes," Hermione said, starting to get irritated with his sappiness, despite her better conscience, "I do."

Honestly, she was more surprised that it was him who broke it off with Luna, and not the other way around. Hermione felt like Luna tended to float in and out of her worlds without a care, and Hermione fully expected that she'd be more likely to wander off and leave Neville hanging.

But maybe that's what did happen, and Neville had just called it off as a result. Hermione didn't know. She didn't exactly care to know, either. Neville was sweet, and pathetic, and used to be attractive. Now, he was a broken shell of what he was. He was in shambles, really.

Still, she should do what she could for him, no matter how misogynistic and rude he'd been to her. And his lesson plans were begging to be finished.

"How much are you eating?" she asked him gently, and he shrugged.

"Clearly not enough," he murmured, but then a sly grin came to his face. "Though you and Snape together are liable to eat the castle out of house and home, if you don't watch yourselves."

"Those sound like fighting words," Hermione said daintily, "I don't suppose you'll surrender your notes to me and let me finish them off, given how you've already sounded the horns to wage war upon me?"

Neville seemed torn between his dignity and his pragmatism, and his pragmatism won. "Thank you," he breathed, and closed his eyes. "I.. you're a good friend, 'Mione, remember that," he said, as she began to scratch out some of his woozily-written words, "Even though I was bloody terrible to you, you've come back."

"I have a problem with that," Hermione said, "historically speaking. Boys are right prats."

"Do you include Snape in that?" Neville asked, apparently not willing to let the topic go. His eyes looked over her hungrily, and she saw for the first time in a while how much Neville truly wanted her - wanted her as his lover, his confidante, his comfort, everything. And honestly, he'd do her a damn sight better than Harry or Ron, presuming he got better. Probably would do her better than Snape ever would either, she realized with some chagrin. But Snape, for all his brokenness, was a man, and Neville was scarcely that. Severus had a level of competence and skill that Neville was barely exploring on his own. Neville would definitely age well, but until then, he was no potential replacement for Severus, of that Hermione was damn sure.

"I don't," Hermione said, "but he's a prat too."

Satisfied with this, Neville slumped down in the hard wooden chair. "Thanks again, 'Mione. And," he went on, mumblingly, "If you wanted, muh muh mugh mugh muh muh."

"What?" Hermione asked, tilting her face and staring straight at him. She turned a page of the textbook as she did.

"I said," Neville said, looking up with a face as white as a sheet, "if you wanted to do what you said you wanted to do, before, we could do that."

He was loopy, but he managed to stare straight into her eyes.

And she stared straight into his.

She felt like she almost caught a glimpse of the inside of his mind - which she immediately regretted. She didn't want to look inside his mind! So she turned her head back to her work. She should talk to Severus about this. She'd never had that experience before. She imagined that was what occulmency was. But she hadn't done it on purpose...

In any case, Neville mistook her worries about her involuntary Occumlency instinct as hesitation about his offer. "I... it was stupid," he said, staring down sadly at his rickety body. "Forget I said anything."

"No," Hermione said, and reached out her finger to touch his chin. "May I... touch you?"

He nodded assent, without looking up, and she tilted his chin upwards. "You deserve love, Neville," she murmured, "and right now, it's a good idea to seek it out wherever you can. I would let Luna keep sending you things. And, for my own part, I would love to be of service to you in whatever way meets both our interests and needs."

"You're talking like a Slytherin," Neville said with a frown, "You're changing, Hermione, in more ways than one."

She paused and thought about it. "Perhaps," she said, "but does that change anything? My offer remains open."

"Yes," Neville said, growing more sure with every repetition, "Yes, I would like to experiment with you, Hermione. Even though you're all tangled up with... Professor Snape."

Hermione grinned and nodded in acknowledgement of the fact that Neville was using Severus' professional title, endowing hi with respect previously not given in the conversation. Then, with a pat on his shoulder, she set to scribbling for twenty minutes, while Neville dozed off. At first he fell asleep while leaning back. Then he fell deeper into sleep leaning forward. Then, in the final culminating era of his sleep, he had collapsed against Hermione's busy shoulder.

"Come," Hermione said, wrapping up the quills she had, "I've finished up your lesson plan for the next week. And I'll help you with your future ones too, if you want them."

"Oh, Hermione, thank Merlin, you're so wonderful," Neville gushed, blinking heavily and standing up.

"But," Hermione said, "I do have one condition. And it is a fair one, I think."

Neville's eyes got wide. "What? If you're going to suggest that me, you, and HIM have a-"

"-I'm going to stop you right there," Hermione said, raising her hand, "because I don't think I myself could stomach the thought. In comparison, this should be a tame request, I think. I simply ask that you get my additional work to help you officially sanctioned - by McGonagall."

"No," Neville said, his eyes hard and sharp.

"I don't know that you have much of a choice, Neville," Hermione said, feeling very Slytherin indeed. "You're unable to complete your lesson plans without falling asleep, Neville. This is deeply worrisome. There are protections available to prevent you from losing your job. Please," she begged, and she found her throat tightening up, That was strange - she hadn't been prepared to get so worked up on Neville's behalf.

They continued the sand-off for several inutes, until Neville finally threw in the towel. "You win," he said sheepishly, and agreed, "I will tell McGonagall. Everything."

"Good," Hermione said, "then, it's settled. I'll help you manage your courseload. But, Neville, there is one other request I would ask of you."

Neville looked a lot more game for this request than the first. "What?" he asked helpfully.

"I," Hermione said, "want to talk to Madame Pomfrey about your condition,," Hermione said, "and if she says what I suspect she will say, I'd like to help you gain back some of the weight you've lost."

Neville looked down at his skin-and-bones cadaverous frame, and reasoned, "Sure, why not?"

"That's right," Hermione said, "you are going to be all right, Neville. You are going to be all right."

He took the moment to thrust himself around her in a firm embrace, and he kissed her squarely on the cheek.

...


	40. negotiations re: neville

Hermione took Neville back to his rooms once she was done with his lesson plans for the week. He was practically falling apart, but she helped him get to bed. 

"Get some actual sleep," she said, tucking him in under the covers, "and when would you like me to come back?" 

"Later," Neville said, relaxing into the bed groggily. He was clearly in need of sleep. 

"But when?" Hermione asked, a bit crossly.

He blinked at her and yawned. "Maybe at dinner?"

Hermione pursed her lips. Clearly dinner time was an important time for her and Severus. But once, she supposed he wouldn't mind awful much. Or maybe they could all eat together. 

"I can arrange that," she said. 

Neville smiled beatifically. "Thank you," he murmured, and she immediately felt guilty that she'd even contemplated resisting his request. "You're lovely."

"Don't thank me yet," Hermione said with a warning tone. "I'm far from having started with you." 

With that, she pressed her fingers on top of his head in a gentle pat, and left the room quietly.  
...............

When she got back to Severus' room, she found him deeply asleep. Which was good, she supposed, since he'd been troubled by insomnia the past few nights.  
In fact, she felt like she could do with a bit of sleep herself, so she tucked herself in with him, squirming 

As soon as he seem to understand what exactly had crawled into bed with him, she felt his arms draped around her like velvet curtains, and she snuggled her butt up against his crotch. 

Sleep didn't come to her, particularly since she was so wound up with thoughts about Neville. 

She wondered what Snape would think once they've managed to have a conversation about it. Would he be mad? Would he be pleased for her? She didn't know. But, she was glad that Neville had gotten over his weird feelings about Snape, at least to the extent that he could. She was glad that she might be able to help him in a small way. 

Her thoughts occupied her for a while. Once Severus woke up, she felt his breathing change. Instead of the long slow breaths he made when sleeping, with a hint of snoring, she felt his breath gets shorter, and much more rapid. He also pressed his face into the nape of her neck, and his nose dug into her bushy hair. 

"How are you, my dear?" he asked her. 

She snuggled closer into him, and her pelvis twitched with a sudden jolt of erotic tension. His belly was so soft against her buttocks, and as she felt around, she sensed his cock was starting to wake up as well. 

"All right," she said, burrowing deeper under the blankets, closer to him, not looking into his eyes. "I had a talk with Neville."

Severus eased himself up into a sitting position. "What did you talk about?" he asked, his voice immediately a touch darker. 

Hermione sighed. "I asked him if he wanted some help with his lesson plans, " she said, "because I saw him sleep in the library, trying desperately to finish them." 

Severus looked vaguely amused, but Hermione shut that down with a glare. "That isn't funny, he is ill. Potentially terminal."

Severus had the good grace to look at least a little chagrined, but he didn't look completely abject. "So," he said, "you helped him with his lesson plans."

"Yes," she said, "and I am going to continue helping him."

"Why?" he asked, looking genuinely puzzled. "He was patently unkind to you." 

"Because," Hermione said, "he is my friend. And my conscience wouldn't allow me to do anything else. He needs someone. And I am the person he needs."

Service raised an eyebrow. "He needs you?" he asked, a tinge of jealousy in his voice. 

"Yes," Hermione said, "and what's more, he needs more than a lab assistant. Neville also need someone to care about him, someone to cuddle him, someone to tell him that everything is alright."

Servers looked like he had swallowed a fly. "And you think you are going to do that as well," he asked, his face becoming strained. 

"Severus," Hermione said, "we've already talked about this, and you said it was alright."

"We did before," Severus said, "before he was an arse to you." 

She shrugged. "It wasn't that big of a deal. He was a prat, but not spiteful or malicious." 

"Oh," Severus said, his eyes rolling back, "and what's *that* supposed to mean?"

"Nothing!" Hermione snapped. "I mean what I'm saying, Severus. We've talked about this. Don't go projecting your feelings of inadequacy onto me. I'm talking only about him, not about you." 

Severus looked like he was going to respond with something spiteful or malicious, but closed his mouth again as he thought better of it. After a few moments of consideration, he said, "You can do as you like. But that doesn't mean I think it's a great idea." 

"What's so bad about it?" Hermione asked. "It's not like he and I are destined for some great romance that will set my relationship with you and me off in the wrong direction. Moreover," Hermione went on, "I feel like until I have experimented with another relationship, that I can't exactly call myself polyamorous."

Severus shook his head. "That is a logical fallacy," he said, "but I can understand why you might feel that way. It's an uncomfortable position to be in when it doesn't feel equilateral. I should know," he said miserably. "I spent years in a similar place with Erika." 

"Yeah," Hermione said, "it feels like I am not living up to the expectations of being poly."

Severus shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure that the label fits our relationship well," he said, "given that we are behaving essentially as a monogamous couple at this time. Aside from talking with Erika," he acknowledged. 

"And what you do with Erika certainly is outside the bounds of what would be permissible if we were in a monogamous relationship," Hermione said curtly, sitting up as well. "Don't forget that. If I were your monogamous girlfriend, you sure as hell wouldn't be allowed to talk with someone else like you do with her on the phone." 

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" Severus asked, his eyes dark and his brow furrowed. "For me to continue my relationship with her in this way? Or my conversations with her?"

"Actually," Hermione said, "no, not at all. It seems like she has a good influence on you in many ways, and you always seem to be a little bit happier when you get off the phone with her. So I think it's good. I just don't want you to get complacent and think that we're 'essentially monogamous.' Because, we aren't." 

"That is fair," Severus acknowledged, looking a bit downcast. "I... I'm sorry," he murmured, looking at the floor. "It's not fair of me to reframe our relationship in my head without talking about it. Even as I think on it now, I see how illogical I was being." 

"Yeah," Hermione said solidly. "That was illogical. But that's all right," she said, wrapping her arms around him forgivingly. "I still like you, a lot." 

"*Like* me?" he said, and snorted dramatically. "Yeah. You do. Merlin knows why, though." 

"Okay," Hermione said, not sure how to respond to his increasingly bitter mood. So she plowed forward. "So," she went on, "this won't change that." 

"I know," he said, and his voice was dark and deep. 

"And just to restate," Hermione said, "at risk of sounding like a broken record, this is nothing to do with what you look like, my attraction to you, or my feelings about you. But if we are going to do this polyamory thing, it needs to be at work both ways, and I want to play around with it a little bit. See what it is like." 

"I suppose," he said, though his shoulders were swamped, and he was looking down at the ground. 

"You cannot guilt me about it," Hermione said. "Whether intentionally or not, you introduced me to this concept initially, by telling me how wonderful your girlfriend was, and it's worth taking some time to explore a little bit more. Even if I didn't think Neville was a good choice for me."

"I don't disagree," Severus said. 

"But you're not feeling good about it," Hermione said. 

"No, I'm not," Severus said, and fell silent. 

"Why?" asked Hermione, holding him closer tucking her foot between his long legs. 

Severus sighed. "I just have never had to deal with the feelings that I am feeling now."

His hand intertwined with her fingers, and he rested it on top of his growing belly. "I just never have had a relationship like this before," he said, his eyes far away, "and forgive me if I am loath to let you out of my sight to be in the company of another man. I've spent most of my life painfully on the wrong side of a love triangle." 

Hermione sighed. "Would it be different if Neville wasn't looking for a relationship as well as physical contact?" she asked. 

"Yes," he said, "though I know that is a double standard."

"Right," Hermione said, "and I also think that is wrong, and illogical." 

"I know," he said, putting his hands on his face, and sighing dramatically. "I am just so new to this so many ways. Erika, for all I love her, wasn't really…"

He stopped there and took a deep breath. "She was already really very entangled with Jean-Raoul, and I was her secondary from the start. From that day, our relationship has never changed in terms of its balance - me on the simmering cauldron in back, Jean-Raoul at the forefront. She has her life with him, and activities with me, while certainly pleasant, aren't of great import in her life. And I'm comfortable with that form of poly, but not the form of poly where my main squeeze…"

He looked embarrassed. "Forgive the term, I don't know where that came from," he went on, "I've never been in the position where the person who occupies so much of my emotional and intellectual efforts is dating someone else as well."

"Well," Hermione said, "For me it's not changing in exactly the way you described. In this relationship, you have always been dating someone else. And I think it's fine. But it's certainly not fair to me to not for you to expect that I not date anyone else for the sake of your comfort. How did Erika respond to your interest in me, initially?"

"Positively," he confessed. "She actively encouraged me to pursue you." 

"Ah," Hermione said, "I didn't know that."

"No," he replied, "I felt embarrassed talking to her about it." He disentangled himself from her and rearranged himself so that he was horizontal on the bed, putting his arms behind his head and readjusting to give Hermione a little more space. "I'm Erika in this situation, I suppose," he said, "so I should be encouraging of your relationship with Neville." 

"It isn't an intuitive feeling, I imagine," Hermione said, drawing the covers more tightly around him and snuggling down alongside him. "Have you talked with her about this?"

"No," he admitted, and looked a bit abashed. He stared up at the ceiling and didn't make eye contact with her. "Would you like me to?"

"I think it might be a good idea," Hermione said. "She can help you get your head screwed on straight." 

"I know that," he said, and sighed. His belly rose and fell with his breaths, looking like a pillowy white mountain. "This is purely trouble between the intellectual part of my brain and the emotional part," he said. "That's all."

"I hear you," Hermione said, "and I'm willing to be as helpful as I can in sorting this out."

"I know you are," he said, "you're uncommonly patient with me." He sighed, and draped his arms over her, and around her. "I don't know why you're so good to me," he whispered, a deep sigh emerging from him. "You truly are a decent person."

Hermione did her best to shrug while Severus had latched onto her. "I don't think most other people would do the same, but then again, I don't really hold most people in the highest esteem."

He chuckled a little bit at that, and patted her on the head. "You," he said carefully, "I like you."

She grinned at him. "So," she said, ready to take on the next battle. "Neville asked me to dinner tonight. Is that alright?" 

Severus' briefly elevated mood sank a bit. "I suppose," he said, and looked a little sad at the prospect of being alone for a meal - the first time in a long while. "I... admit I've gotten used to you being with me while eating," he murmured. "Perhaps too much so." 

Hermione didn't say anything, since she could see the wheels churning in his head. Then, he brightened up again. "It will finally give me a chance to focus on finishing the folio of abstracts for the conference," he said, "just don't take too long."

She nodded. "I won't," she said, and then she found herself giving him a wicked grin. "But you know what I need to do before I head to Neville's dinner," she asked, her voice rising with a wicked anticipation. 

"And what is that?" he asked, his eyes growing wide as he seem to recognize where she was headed. 

"I need to," she said carefully, "make sure that my 'main squeeze' stays plump and squeezy in the meantime." 

"I suppose that could be accommodated," Severus said, his eyes brightening, and then they both got out of bed and went to the dining table in the main room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave comments and reviews 
> 
> every time you do Severus and Hermione gain an extra pound :) 
> 
> (is that the way to your generous hearts, readers? through the characters' stomachs? lol.)


	41. pre-neville dinner, love

In no time, the table was covered in food - all of it scrumptious, all of it ready for consumption.

They seated themselves comfortably in their usual positions, adjacent to each other, their legs carefully twining together.

"What's on the menu today?" Severus asked aloud, lifting away covers briskly. "Mm. A whole ham, fettuccine, and green peas."

The amount of food was, compared to many of their previous dinners featured in this story, relatively modest, but Hermione knew that between the two of them they'd finish it all off, and still seek out dessert.

He served her first, then himself. The room was dark, as nightfall had come to them in the time they'd been asleep.

"Oh," Hermione groaned, after several bites of fettuccine, "this is divine."

"Simple enough," Severus said in agreement, "but highly edible."

After his first few bites, he waved his hand at the phonograph in the corner, which they'd used several times before. Some scratchy music emerged, and Hermione recognized it as being classical music. The gentle hum of an oboe caressed their ears as they commenced eating, and Hermione felt complex themes develop, and the way the notes hung in the air pierced her heart. The piano trilled, and it sounded of spring - the perfect accompaniment to their dinner.

The arpeggios began to cascade up, like the gentle song of a harp, and Hermione held her breath until the demure end of the movement.

"What is this?" she asked, "it's beautiful."

Severus had slowed his pace, being on his second plate of pasta and ham already, and his eyes gazed off into the distance. "Tchaikovsky," he said, his face satisfied, and then he looked at her. "Strikes a chord with you, does it?"

She grimaced and smiled at his pun, particularly at the way his eyebrow quirked in anticipation of her response. "I suppose," she said, "you might say that."

He nodded, still a bit pleased with himself, and he lay down his fork in preparation for a bit of a story. "My mother," he began, and his face immediately became slightly more shuttered, though he persevered through it, "was a woman of great talents, who squandered them because she desired a different life. She wanted to abandon wizardkind and become an opera singer. She settled for a music hall, and fell in love with my father, who was one of the backstage hands where she worked."

Severus shook his head. "All I have of hers, of any real import, is her record collection. That's why I have it," he said, "I suppose if I'd had any interest in pursuing my own taste in music, I'd have very different ideals - but for the moment, I'm content with these old things that I've heard a hundred times each."

Hermione nodded. She was incredibly touched at his confession, and she was captivated by the image in her head of Severus' mother. She imagined the woman in a beautiful pink gown, not unlike that Liza Doolittle wore in My Fair Lady, with a graceful train, crepe-chine flowers, and a glorious flow to it.

Then she shook the image out of her mind. "What was she like?" Hermione asked.

Severus picked up his fork, and stabbed at his food, took a few heaping bites, crouching his neck down to better evacuate the noodles into his mouth. Then, with a frown, he said, "Stern. Broken. Unfixable."

He swallowed his food, and seemed reluctant to say more, but added, "She also drank hideously, after I started at Hogwarts. It ruined her voice."

Hermione reached over and touched his hand. He laid down his fork and let her hold his hand for a moment, until he came up with something else to say. His voice was a bit rumbly as he finished, "She was a beautiful woman, and a loving mother, though all her will had been stomped out of her to do anything more than see me safely out the door."

He frowned, shook his head as if to clear it, and then commenced to finish the plate, sopping up the dregs of the creamy white sauce with a roll.

"Did she ever make any recordings of her music?" Hermione asked, hoping she wasn't digging too deep into his head.

He shot a warning glance at her - she read it as, 'I'll indulge you this last one, but for the love of Merlin please shut up after this' - and he gave a pensive half-smile. "I know she talked about it. There was an album or somesuch - she was hoping it would recharge her career, be her first debut back on the stage after having me - but my father's bitterness stalled that brief misadventure. I was eleven then," he mused, "the spring before I got my Hogwarts letter. But I don't remember anything else about it - my father couldn't bear to hear anything about it."

He sighed, and served himself a third plate automatically. "I remember hearing her practice, hours and hours each day. She would practice in the bedroom while my father was out, warming up with warm salt water. Sometimes she'd make me fetch it if she wasn't feeling well."

His face grew tighter, and his eyes seemed to dilate as he retreated into his memories. "She was so frail. And she so rarely felt well."

Hermione nodded. "So painful, to see that creative power melt away into the despair of being in a relationship with your father," she murmured, feeling helpless to ease the pain that burdened him. Somehow, however, this was the right thing to say - Severus' glazed look disappeared, and he took a deep breath, as though he was coming out from under water.

"Thank you, my dear," he said, taking her hand and clasping it warmly. His thumb gently pressed itself along the curve of her palm, tracing a path along her life line, and he sighed. "Enough," he said, settling back more comfortably and starting to embark upon his third plate with an inspired stab with the fork. "No more melancholy today."

"All right," Hermione said, though her mind was going into its own well-worn dark places. The music behind them was growing darker, with the piano growing more and more ominous.

She hadn't talked to her own parents in years, at this point. She used to have a good excuse - fighting the wizarding war. Once that was over, she had found another excuse - dealing with all the logistical details was going to take a great deal of time to resolve, including where they were going to live, what they were going to do about their shuttered dental practice, and more. She had told herself that because she was in the fledgling part of her career, she was going to be too busy to sort all this out, so since they weren't in any danger, why not let them sit for another year or so until she was stable enough to take a vacation?

But that vacation had never happened - the expectations at the Public Advocate's office had worn on her deeply, and she hadn't taken a vacation until she quit.

And now, she had to admit, this excuse as well was no longer really relevant. She was well settled in to a stable job. She had taken this job because, among other reasons, there was a built-in vacation period of the year. She had no excuse not to spring her parents from Down Under as soon as summer vacation hit.

But now she had more complications in the picture. Severus.

How would her parents react to her dating one of her former teachers? Not well.

How would her health-obsessed parents react to her ballooning up a hundred plus pounds between the time they last saw her and the present? Not well at all.

And truth be told, while she experienced some pangs of sadness whenever the topic of parents came up, overall she was fairly satisfied with the situation. Her parents had always been well-meaning busybodies when it came to her, and it was only because of the lack of phone service to Hogwarts that Hermione hadn't gotten a call every night from her mother or father asking about her homework.

She was brilliant at working hard, her parents had always said, but wasn't there something else she should be doing as well?

Hermione, in fact, had felt oppressed by her parents. Kindly and doting as they'd always been, they'd also charged her to press herself beyond what anyone else could have reasonably expected from a young girl.

Hermione hadn't yet really sat down to examine her relationship with her parents as an adult. And as she examined it there, at the dinner table, with Severus wolfing down a third, and then a fourth plate of pasta, she realized that she simply might like them not being in her life anymore.

She felt like a terrible person for feeling that way. Why did she have to not like her parents? Unlike Severus' parents, who had failed him in so many ways, her parents had always irrevocably been there for her.

"Hermione?"

Severus looked somewhat bored, but below that she could tell he was concerned.

"I'm fine," she said, taking a piece of the ham and chewing it slowly. "Just thinking about my parents."

"You haven't told me much about them," Severus said, and a hint of pain came to his face. "In fact, I was talking to Erika about Jean-Raoul, and she was complaining that so many of her conversations revolve around him - and I realize that the same might be applicable here."

"It's fine," Hermione said comfortably, "you listen when I do want to talk about myself."

"Yes," Severus said, but his look was insightful, and target at her. He reached for a fifth serving of pasta, but as his overfull belly slowed his approach to the table, he stopped, and sat back, looking at her, putting two hands on top of the shelf his belly made. He looked thoughtful. "But you don't much, do you?" he said, his voice low. "So often, my dear, what you talk about is ideas. Beautiful ideas, but ideas nonetheless." He shook his head. "It's very Ravenclaw, actually."

"Either that, or Slytherin," Hermione said pointedly.

He raised his eyebrow curiously. The music from the phonograph was a waltz now, lilting and cheerful, with occasional dark tones that gave it dimensionality and substance.

"Avoidance," she added.

He frowned thoughtfully and nodded, settling back in his chair, and he let out an involuntary groan as he readjusted.

"If I get any bigger," he said with black humor, "I'm going to have to cut out a hole in this table for me to eat at."

"Oh," Hermione said, feeling her cheeks heat up at the very mention of it. "And that hole will have to get bigger with every inch you gain around your immense belly."

He nodded, but didn't really seem in the mood to engage in their kink, taking a deep breath and relaxing into himself again.

"So, Hermione," he asked, gently, "Let's avoid the avoidance. Your parents."

Hermione sighed. She wasn't looking forward to this. "What's there to say? They're in Australia under assumed names. I have no idea what they're doing - I cut myself out of their memories as best I could. I haven't heard from them, so I assume the charms still are holding well enough."

Severus nodded. "But what are they like?" he asked, putting a pensive finger on his chin and touching it idly.

Hermione found herself thinking back about Severus and his mother. She wished her parents were so remarkable, so romantic. Her parents seemed so bland in comparison, so mundane.

"My parents are dentists," she said, "and Muggles, of course. My father's very kind, and intelligent. My mother is quite handy, and does cross-stitch as a hobby. She's very patient and tolerant, and quite bright herself, though not quite as brilliant as my father, I think."

She shrugged. "I really don't know what else to say. I had a good childhood. I never had any problems."

"You don't have to have had problems to have something to say," Severus said, "and, indeed, it is refreshing to hear about something so unique in this broken world. Pray continue."

Hermione thought back. She had rarely engaged in any time talking about her parents to either Ron or Harry, who had accepted her so much as a person in her own right that she'd rarely bothered to think of them.

"I think the trouble with them" she said finally, "is that they really struggled to see me as my own person. That is their one flaw, I think."

"That's a significant flaw," Severus said receptively.

"Yeah, I suppose," Hermione said, and then frowned. "I don't know. They both loved me deeply. But they also just..."

She sighed.

"I don't know what they would have done if I'd been born, like, developmentally disabled or whatnot. Before we knew I was a witch, they talked nonstop about how I was going to go to University. There never was any doubt I was going. No chance for me to choose something else, if I'd wanted it."

She felt a darkness emerge from inside her that had been deeply ingrained in her psyche. "I know they would have, if I'd protested, supported me in whatever I wanted to do. But I think they didn't let me choose an awful lot about what my life was going to look like. My being a witch, that completely threw them off. They had no idea what to do with me at first. But McGonagall was very skilled at talking down reluctant muggle-born parents, even mine. I'm glad she did," Hermione concluded, realizing she was taking up a great deal of the conversation at this rate, and feeling self-conscious. "I know some part of me would have died if I didn't come to Hogwarts."

"Understandably so," Severus said, though she could tell he was getting marginally uncomfortable. She could guess why.

"I suppose another reason I haven't talked all that much about me," she said quietly, "is because for a significant portion of my life, I was your student. I'm only twenty six as of last September," she went on, her voice low and, despite her efforts to sound mature, she felt her voice shaking a bit. "Seven out of my 26 years - or over a quarter of my life - and, indeed, my most formative years that I can remember - was as your student."

She saw the dismay drape over his face as she reminded him about the facts. The music in the background, on the phonograph, swelled with timpani and violins cascading up and down. They died away as suddenly as they had leaped into action.

"That doesn't matter," he said carefully, and she could see his Slytherin showing. "There's still a full 70-odd percent of your life to tell me about."

She elected not to argue with him. "Fine," she acknowledged.

"Moreover," he went on, "it's... it's not as though I don't want to hear about what your life was like as my student," he said, a little gruffly. "It's a bit awkward, of course, but that will go away with time."

He was putting a tremendous amount of effort behind the words, and Hermione was incredibly grateful for that.

"Thank you," she said with a sad smile on her lips. He was trying, she could see, and trying very well. She hoped the awkwardness about their past roles would go away. Perhaps it was too soon to expect that.

Then again, she much preferred it this way - his awkwardness, the way his face grew red (she could tell even in the candlelight), his throat-clearing, and his general reluctance to broach the subject. It was far better this way, she knew, than for him to have been lusting after her for years, only to have her in his bed with a sense of 'FINALLY!'

That would have been quite unpleasant to her. And honestly, more than a bit gross.

She wondered if there was any chance that Severus might have had feelings for her when she was a student, if he hadn't been so caught up in his obsession with Lily. She certainly had crushed on him, of course, as we saw very early in this story.

Then she decided she couldn't think on that much longer. Severus was who he was, and the lifelong obsession with Lily was a large part of who he was.

And now, she mused with some distinct happiness rustling around in her brain, he had grown out of it, for whatever reason - in more ways than one. And he was going to continue growing, alongside her.

In more ways than one.

Severus began to stir, and she could tell he was ready for dessert.

"My dear," she murmured softly, putting her napkin on the table and standing up, "I'm... I'm going to go be with Neville now. Will you be all right?"

He cast his eyes up at her, and there was abject sorrow in them. But then, with an effort, he managed to smile painfully wide, his eyes clouding over with the evidence of his false front.

"Completely," he said with a false brightness behind the word.

She felt a stab of pain in her heart to see and hear it.

"I don't think so," she said, shaking her head. "Do we need to talk more about it?"

He laughed hollowly. "No, no," he said. "I won't even miss you," he lied, "I'll have my hands full."

She looked at him sternly, clearly not believing him. "We'll talk more about this later," she said.

"No need!" he said cheerfully - oh yes, something was wrong when Severus Snape was cheerful - and she grasped his shoulder firmly. He turned his head, and their eyes met.

"Listen," she said, her tone low and quiet. "We will have dinner. And then I will come back. I will not fuck him. Definitely not. I don't even know if we'll kiss or not. He's really sick, Severus," she concluded, "And you really, really have nothing to worry about."

"Who says I'm worried?" he asked, his guard dropping just a bit, and his bottom lip curled under, where he bit it.

She shook her head. Sometimes he was incorrigible, but she wasn't sure that she wouldn't behave the same way in his position.

"I'll be back soon," she said, patting his shoulder and kissing him on the head.

She brushed off her dress and approached the front door, grasped the handle, and turned back to face him.

"In the meantime," she added, her heart palpitating with a fierceness that she could scarcely remember ever feeling before, "here's something for you to chew on other than your dessert."

He immediately looked worried, his eyes wide and calculating, staring straight at her.

The music had changed at this point, and the phonograph was playing some scratchy voices singing a cheerful operatic chorus, punctuated by a vibrant orchestra.

Hermione felt a lump in her throat rise, and she stammered out, "I love you, Severus. I know you're not hot on the love thing. You can take it or leave it. But I love you, and I'm not going anywhere. I know you have feelings about this, but can talk about it later. And that's a promise."

With that, his mouth opened, but she wasn't prepared to talk to him about it. She rushed out the door, and found herself walking briskly down the hallway, her heart pounding in her chest, but she felt immensely happier for having said it.

 

  
..........................

If you're curious about the piece of music Hermione and Severus started their evening listening to, it was the randomly-chosen Opus 1, Piano Concerto in B-flat minor, Opus 23. Part II from my Tchaikovsky Spotify playlist.

If you're curious, the other music I listen to while writing ranges between Philip Glass's The Hours soundtrack (for when I want to write angst), and various meme videos on youtube that are hilarious and don't require any of my attention at all, e.g. Brodyquest, or HE-MAN HEYEAYEA SONG FOR 10 HOURS or Biggie Smalls feat. Thomas the Tank Engine. Strange backdrops indeed for my writing I suppose.

Also regarding Hermione's age: so because I suck, back when I started this fic, I said that it was 5 years after the Battle of Hogwarts, placing this story at the beginning of 2004. Hermione's birthday is September 19, which means she's among the oldest in her class. This places her birthday as being 1979, given that Harry was born in 1980 and is amongst the youngest in his class, since the entry to Hogwarts is determined by your age on September 1st. So all that lines up fine and dandy. The place where I screwed up is that I was using the wrong damn calendar at the beginning of the fic - I was describing things as being Saturday the Xth of Whatevmber, and for this I was using a 2007 calendar! Alas alack! I hope you're all willing to overlook this chronological issue. Basically from here on forward, in the interest of continuity, I'm continuing to use a 2007 calendar for this fic set in 2004. I hope this isn't the Worst Thing Ever, but I don't feel like going back and editing the thing to have it make sense.


	42. neville caretaking

Hermione felt her body pulsing as she walked down the hallway. She almost expected Severus to come to the door and demand, 'Wait!'

But he didn't. She wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not.

Soon she was back at Neville's door. She knocked, but there was no answer, just the hollowness of her knuckles on the cold wood.

She tried the handle and found it was still open. What a far cry from Severus, who still warded his door with layer upon layer of spells. There was no evidence she saw, as she went in, that Neville had anything to guard himself.

Neville himself was still sleeping in his bed, practically dead to the world as she approached him.

"Hey," she said in a low voice, and was met with his raspy breathing. She sat herself down in the comfortable chair next to the head of his bed and looked at him sadly.

His cheeks were hollowed out, and his loose flesh - from when they were round and rosy - hung limply. His nose was adorably button-shaped, but it seemed a bit over-large on his face in its current state. His chin was covered in stubble from a few days' worth of not shaving, and his cheekbones protruded unhandsomely from his face.

That wasn't even considering the rest of him. He was in bed with all his clothes on, all the blankets drawn up around him in an attempt to make sufficient insulation. The room wasn't cold; she'd left a fire in the fireplace, and it still emanated plenty of heat.

She heaved herself up - an increasingly difficult task given how much she'd added to her fat arse recently - and bent down effortfully to get a log to toss on the fire.

At the crunching of firewood, Neville stirred, and as Hermione tossed the log onto the fire and bent up straight - finding herself breathing heavily at the exertion - he opened his eyes wide. His eyes were already quite big and voluminious normally, constantly agape in a state of perpetual bewilderment and wonder, but now they seemed uncanny, even eerie.

"How are you?" Hermione asked, sitting down next to him in the chair again.

He took a deep breath and made an attempt to smile.

"Doing better, with the rest," he reported, and he made a motion to get up.

"No," Hermione said, putting out her hand and leaning forward. Neville sighed with fatigue, and instead opted to just sit up.

"You came back," he said, sounding as if he was surprised.

"Of course, silly," she said, offering him her hand. "I said I would."

"I know," he said, and shook his head. "I'm just... I'm sorry, 'Mione." He took a few deep breaths, and then leaned back against the headboard with a fainting motion.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked, standing up and supporting his head before he banged it.

"Yes," he reported, and coughed. "Just a bit weak, is all."

"It appears so," Hermione said.

She thought back to her reading on his disease, which she'd completed back in early October.

"I have a few questions for you," she began, and she drew her purse onto her lap and began to rifle through it, until she found a notebook she'd stashed away a month ago with a red and gold cover. "When's the last time you saw a healer, or a doctor?"

Neville shrugged. "Last week I was at my healer's at Diagon Alley." He opened his eyes blearily and closed them again.

"And the last time you ate?"

He seemed puzzled. "Maybe yesterday?"

"Oh gods," Hermione said, and closed her eyes tight. Her stomach, full to the brim with the contents of her heavy dinner, began to feel oppressive to her - in not a good way. "We've got to change that immediately."

Neville nodded. "I know, it's a problem," he said softly, and he opened his eyes wider, clearly trying to get a better look at her. "I suppose you know a thing or two about how to eat, given how you and Snape were at Halloween," he said, his tone trying to mask the bitterness in his voice, but failing miserably.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Let's not talk about Snape. I'm here for you, Neville," she said, her voice growing softer. "And when's the last time you had water? Or any fluids at all?"

He didn't have a ready answer for that either, so she summoned immediately a glass from his kitchenette - when it arrived, it was soiled and gross, and she had to cast a quick scourgify on it.

"I can't believe the elves let you get away with this," Hermione said, shaking her head and filling the glass with an aguamenti. Then, realizing as he raised his shaking hand that he wasn't going to be easily able to drink it, she took a pencil from the bedside table and transformed it into a straw. "Here, drink this."

Neville nodded, not needing to be told twice, and he sucked obediently at the straw.

"All of it," she said sternly as he tried to give it back after half of it was gone.

Looking quailed, he successfully drank the whole glass, and she took it back from him.

"I guess I needed that," Neville said, and took a deep breath. "Yeah. I'm feeling a bit better already."

"I can't believe you haven't been drinking water, Neville," she scolded, sounding a bit cross. "Really, it's one of the most important things when you're receiving those vile potions for cancer treatment."

"Yeah," he replied softly, "but I have to drink those three times a day. All the rest of the time I have no stomach for anything else." He grimaced as he looked at his pocket watch, which emerged from the loose folds of his waistcoat. Hermione had never noticed him wear the watch before.

"Drat," he said, frowning at the time. "As it happens, it's that time again."

"Where are they?" Hermione asked, and stood to fetch them. Neville shook his head and waved his hand, and a potion in a crystal bottle flew into it.

"They're safe," he said with a shrug, "in the kitchen cabinet."

Hermione watched as he unstoppered the vial, and she touched his arm as he swirled it around, staring it down. He was steeling himself for the swallow.

"How about you eat first," Hermione said, "since it makes your stomach so queasy?"

"I already tried that," Neville said unhappily. "If I eat before, then take it, I end up puking my guts out in the loo."

She shook her head. "Have you tried eating, and then waiting an hour to take the medicine?"

He looked a little bewildered. "No. But then I wouldn't be on schedule."

Ah, so here was a place she already could help him. If Hermione knew anything about anything, she knew about schedules.

"Then here's what we'll do," she said succinctly. "Tonight, we'll eat now, and tonight take your potion an hour late. It won't make that much of a difference," she said as he began to argue, "I think any healer would agree with me that delaying by a short while will have a minimal impact. Have you ever forgotten to take it, and taken it late?"

"A few times," Neville acknowledged, and the shame in his face indicated that it was more than a few times indeed.

"Did you feel any ill effects from taking it late?" Hermione asked, sensing that she was getting bossy, but so what? Neville needed a bit of bossiness in his life right now.

"Not really," he admitted, and he tried to smile at her. It was weak, but it was good.

"Then let's do it," she said. "We'll get some food into you now, and then an hour later, you'll take the potion. Understood?"

"Yes, 'Mione," he said softly, and smiled. It was a little bit of a stronger smile now. She couldn't tell if it was real or just Gryffindor courage, however.

"Good," she said briskly, and clapped her hands for an elf.

Neville shook his head when nothing happened.

"I... told them not to come in here," Neville said, his face brightening up. "I thought it would please you, to see I wasn't relying on their... slave labor? Is that what you called it?"

Hermione's jaw dropped. Nearly to the point where it was unrescuable.

"You thought it would please me?" she asked, her voice breaking as she said the words.

"Yeah," Neville said, and was clearly already doubting this plan. "What, erm, did I do the wrong thing? You've always been so passionate about their rights," he went on, blathering and clearly feeling worse and worse with every word he spoke. "You did so much to advance the cause of S.P.E.W., I thought it would make you happy to see I wasn't abusing them like you always said we did."

"Oh, Neville," Hermione said, her heart breaking as she looked at his piteous face. "I don't think that way anymore."

"Really?" he asked, confused. "So you think it's all right to abuse them?"

"No!" Hermione said, her voice becoming angry. "Not at all! Just... I came to have a different kind of understanding, about the house elves," she said, feeling ashamed of herself in every regard. Her mind floated back to the situation with Lowly and Fancy, and her cheeks burned with shame.

That was once incident where she was shown just how much she had an impact on the world around her. Now, here she was, being shown that very same lesson in a completely different way.

She felt incredibly guilty, because she was sure that no matter how nice Neville was in telling the elf not to come to tend to him, the self-abuse perpetrated by the elf to their ears was incomprehensible. That, and Neville could have been truly benefiting from an extra pair of hands, someone taking care of him, for these past few months.

In fact, Hermione felt like she was personally responsible for Neville's poor self-care for the past several months - she'd indirectly contributed to it in a major way.

At least she was going to help to fix it. If it wasn't too late. She hoped it wasn't too late. Neville looked ghostly pale in the dim room.

"Now, I understand a little bit more about them," Hermione said, and took a deep breath. "But I'll explain more once I summon one." She clapped again, and called out specifically, "Minty?"

Minty dutifully showed up after a few moments of hesitation, and she glanced around the bedroom, and up at Neville with a great deal of anxiety in her eyes.

"Master Neville doesn't like elves," she said with a brief curtsy, "Does Minty have permission to serve the Mistress Hermione here?"

"Yes," Neville said, his face turning darker with worry. "I... I didn't mean that you have to be afraid to come here, Minty."

Hermione felt a flutter of gratitude that Neville was astute enough to pick up on the elf's name after Hermione's single use. That meant he wasn't quite as out of it as she feared.

"Then does Minty have permission to serve the Mistress Hermione?" asked Minty carefully, looking as if she was walking on eggshells.

"Of course," Neville said with a heavy wave of his hand, and it landed back in his lap. "Any elf can come and go as they please. It seems like it's silly to trouble you over me, but I think Hermione wants you to resume taking care of me."

Minty raised her little elf eyebrows attentively. "Certainly, Master Neville," she said with another curtsy. "Lucky will be honored to serve you again, and will swing the great front door of Hogwarts on his hands if Lucky serves Master Neville to your satisfaction."

Neville looked horrified. "That won't be necessary," he said, shaking his head with a shiver. "Please don't."

"It seems as if Master Neville forbids Lucky from punishing himself," Hermione said strictly, and gave Minty an intense look. "And that goes for you as well, Minty."

Minty bowed. "Minty hears," she said with a nod, and she asked, "What does Mistress Hermione wish from Minty tonight?"

"A bit of broth," Hermione said, "and biscuits, and porridge, and sliced tomatoes, some fizzy water, and some chips."

"Right away," Minty said, and dashed away.

Neville smiled at Hermione with a sense of other-worldliness. "I wish," he whispered, but stopped himself.

"What?" Hermione asked, turning herself to focus completely on him.

"I'm going to sound so silly," Neville said, and a blush rose on his cheeks.

"Don't worry about that," Hermione said, "go on."

He took a moment to steel himself, but there was a flicker of trust in his eyes. "I wish that you'd sit in bed with me," he said, trying to sound brave. Instead he just sounded adorable.

"Of course," Hermione said, "and more besides, if you like."

"Oh," Neville said, and his cheeks flushed an even deeper red. "Would you... hold me?"

"Yes," Hermione said, "I'm glad you asked."

With that, she heaved herself up out of the chair, and clambered onto the bed, carefully over his knobby knees, and she lay alongside him and spooned him.

He sighed with contentment, and snuggled against her, breathing deeply.

"I'm... I'm glad you're here," he murmured, sounding wistful. "I just wish it wasn't because I'm sick."

Hermione clasped him tighter. "Nonsense," she said, "It's not just because you're sick."

He was quiet for a moment, and her hands felt around the area she was holding onto. It was, predictably, his belly area - not that there was anything significant there now. She felt through the layered blankets for an idea of what they were hiding, and she found the loose skin of his formerly pronounced tummy move under her fingers. She also, with some movement, found his ribs.

"In fact," she said deftly, "I was more attracted to you when you had a little bit of something here." She patted the thin rubbery belly that he had, and he shuddered.

"You're joking," he said, and the clarity and awakeness of his voice were a testament to his shock.

"I'm not," Hermione said, taking a deep breath, pressing her own soft growing mound of belly against his spine. "Why, what do you like?"

"I... can't say, for sure," Neville said, his voice back to its dismal tones. He took a deep breath that filled his diaphragm, and exhaled. "I like you, though. Whatever you look like."

Hermione felt her heart melt. "Oh," she murmured, and pulled him closer to her. "You poor dear," she said, and pressed her forehead against the back of his neck. "We're going to get you back to normal," she said energetically. "We'll get you well again."

He turned over to face her, with effort. His breath reeked, but he didn't seem to be aware of it. She knew it was probably the potions, and the dehydration. "Thank you," he said softly, and laid his head on her plump chest. "With you, I know we will."

...................

She felt like she was leading him on. That's what she was feeling.

As she spoon-fed him porridge and sliced tomatoes - all of what she'd ordered for him was breakfast food, she realized - he chewed and swallowed obediently. She didn't over-feed him, because she knew he couldn't take much.

She also had no idea what he liked, sexually. It would be too much of a coincidence if he happened to be interested in the kink she shared with Severus. But, she thought, that was why poly was a good idea. It helped provide some diversity in peoples' lives. She could figure out other things to do with Neville. If they ever got to that point.

Though as she laid him down to sleep, after a meager cup's worth of food - she'd measured - and promised to come back tomorrow and go down with him to breakfast, she felt her conscience rumble, along with her stomach. Her plan had been to eat two dinners, and she was feeling peckish. She hadn't planned on Neville being nearly as sick as he was, and she hadn't wanted to disturb him before taking his potion with the scent of heavy food.

Severus, she saw when she returned back to his rooms, was donned in his dressing gown, and wearing his glasses, and laying on the sofa on his belly, with his computer before him.

He looked up in surprise at her.

"That was fast," he said casually, as if nothing had happened when she had left the room.

"Yeah," Hermione said, and sat down where he made room for her next to him on the couch. She was surprised to see him so receptive to her, and she wondered what on earth she was in for. "He's really not doing well. He couldn't remember the last time he drank even a glass of water."

"Poor sod," Severus said, his face latched onto hers. "I trust you took care of him as best you could."

"Absolutely," she said, and she sighed. "I really don't want him to die."

"That won't happen," he said with a shrug. "I can't remember ever anyone in the wizarding world dying of cancer."

"Really?" Hermione asked, and she realized she believed him. "Oh. Well. I suppose. Cancer is really a big Muggle thing."

"I know," he said dryly, shutting his computer with a bit of a huff. "But it isn't here."

Hermione nodded. "Are you okay?" she asked, reaching out to take off his glasses.

She couldn't help but notice his eyes were a little raw, but they shone keenly at her as she removed them and put them on the sidetable.

In response, he grabbed her around the waist and drew her on top of him, kissing her deeply, using subtle and tantalizing tonguing.

"Oh," she sighed, reciprocating fervently. She wasn't exactly sure how he was, but she could tell that there was something going on in his Slytherin head. She would just have to wait and see what would happen.

 

 

 


	43. how could i not love you

Hermione went and took care of Neville for at least an hour every day for the next week. Sometimes she spent a little more time with him, depending on Snape's mood and what she thought Neville needed. 

At first, Snape was excessively grumpy about it, but after a time, he seemed to get used to the idea. The more that it became a routine, the less he seemed to object.

Particularly given how asexual the arrangement was, Severus soon seemed fairly comfortable with the arrangement. In fact, Severus seemed to grow more and more easy with the arrangement in large part because she proceeded as usual with Severus in terms of her eating. She kept up a strict diet - eating an increasing number of calories on a daily basis. It soon became clear to her that anything else was unlikely to yield results. 

And Severus also used his skills to enhance her growth. While Hermione wanted to continue holding off on the more excessive potions, he did provide her (when she requested it) with some of the potions they'd used before - the one that enhanced her capacity, if temporarily, tended to be her favorite. 

By November 17th, Hermione had put on a hefty fourteen pounds in seven days, and she and Severus were planning to go out to Hogsmeade for the evening as a celebration of such success. 

Neville had recovered substantially from his weakness of the previous week - a good amount of what he'd undergone in terms of his weakness was dehydration, they decided - and Hermione was having her second breakfast of the day with him. 

Stuffing herself at the staff table, Hermione mused wickedly at the way that Neville's clothes weren't nearly as stringy and unfitting as they'd been a scarce week previously. She also saw the way his cheeks were maintaining their color a lot better, and she felt glad at the sight. 

A happy thought struck her - she was largely responsible for his increasing heartiness and good health. She had watched him wane away for so many weeks, and yet with just a little bit of care, he was doing substantially better. 

Hermione was pleased with the sight of this, and she poked him in the arm as he sat down. 

"How are we this morning?" she asked, putting down her book and proceeding to turn a smile at him. 

Neville had a tendency to blush furiously whenever she interacted with him. He did so now, profusely. 

"Doing, erm, quite better, I think," he said, and he smiled back at her. She pushed the sugar bowl in his direction, and with a compliant but long-suffering sigh, he accepted it. His application of sugar on his porridge was insubstantial, and she corrected his estimate once he'd finished by taking the sugar spoon and adding another few heaping spoonfulls, along with some raisins and berries. 

"Oh come now," Neville said, his face settling into a good-humored grimace, "don't tell me I've got to eat all that. Haven't I've been putting it on well recently? I ought to lay off the sweets." 

"Well, if you insist," Hermione said, shrugging, "be my guest. But don't forget," she added, and she leaned closer to Neville until she was whispering in his ear, "I like my lovers like I like my meals - substantial, and fattening." 

This meant Neville nearly fainted from the amount of blood that rushed to his ears. "Can't argue with that," he said, after a dry swallow, and he picked up his spoon dutifully. "Yes, 'Mione, I shall indeed attempt to do justice to this bowl of porridge. With gusto." 

She laughed gently at him, and he smiled back at her. They had settled into a pattern of indulgent banter back and forth, her coddling him and badgering him to eat, and him acting reluctant. It seemed to suit their relationship - and he wasn't really reluctant, as of course they both knew. But in the public of the Great Hall, Hermione found that this pattern was more comfortable for them both than allowing him to simply indulge gluttonously. Not that he was able to indulge gluttonously, given his lack of appetite, of course... but in any case, this seemed to be working. 

Hermione proceeded to push the bacon in his direction, as he was scraping the bottom of his bowl of porridge, and he groaned at her. "Not bacon," he moaned, "didn't I eat enough of that for you yesterday?" 

"Three rashers is hardly *substantial,*" purred Hermione, "I fully expect you to surpass that this morning. Four, or you shall not have my company again for breakfast tomorrow."

"Really?" Neville asked, and there was worry in his voice as he dropped the play-acting. 

"No, of course not," Hermione said. "Eat what you can. You already had quite a bit of porridge. That's very good for you." 

"All right," Neville said, and he began to nibble at the rashers of bacon that sat in front of him. 

Then Hermione felt the heavy - though near-silent - tread of a familiar step at her side. She swerved her head around to see Severus, looking immensely satisfied with himself. 

"Professor Longbottom," Severus said smoothly in greeting, and then he reached over Hermione's began to serve himself from the platter of bacon. "Good morning to you. Professor Granger," he added, a strange and interesting twinkle - twinkle?! - in his eye. "Good morning to you as well." 

"Good morning, Professor Snape," Hermione said, biting back a laugh. She wasn't entirely sure what he was doing down here for breakfast, of all things - she'd already eaten with him in her rooms just prior. It wasn't as if he were actually that hungry, or so she thought. 

No, there was something else going on in his head. 

She waited patiently until he sat down, a heaping plateful of bacon and eggs in front of him, on Neville's left, and out of Hermione's reach. 

"What are you doing tonight, Longbottom?" asked Snape quietly, in a voice just loud enough that Hermione was barely able to hear. 

"I... I don't know," Neville said, "aren't you and Hermione going out to Hogsmeade?" 

"Yes," Severus said, "and I'd like, with Hermione's consent, to invite you to come along with us." 

Neville looked genuinely terrified at the idea. 

"Um. Why?" asked Neville, premeditated visions surging through his mind at such a rapid pace that Hermione didn't need legilimency skills to see them. 

"Because," Severus said, settling back in his chair with an easy grace that seemed unachieveable for someone of his bulk. "I'd like to have dinner with the both of you. Get to know the man *my partner*" (he emphasized the words with such an enunciation that they seemed to drip from his mouth sensually) "seems to enjoy so much." 

"I, erm, would be pleased to, sir," Neville said, and the lie was bald. 

Hermione and Severus stole a glance, and Hermione could tell that Snape was actually a bit nervous about this, despite his comparative ease. "Come on, Neville," Hermione said encouragingly, "It won't be so bad. If you don't want to, you don't have to." 

Neville took a glance between Hermione and Severus, looking trapped and worried. Then, summoning his bravery, he said, "I'll be there. Let's meet after classes then, shall we? Outside on the front steps?" 

"Sounds fine to me," Severus said, brushing some crumbs off the front of his shirt. "Hermione?" 

"Yes," agreed the witch pleasantly. Hermione's heart began to thrum with excitement, and her over-stuffed tum began to churn with anticipation and some anxiety. "I... I need to finish this chapter before class," she said, gesturing to the book she'd been reading before Neville showed up, "Severus, would you sit next to me?" 

"With pleasure, my dear," Severus rumbled, and there was a smugness and satisfaction in his voice as he got up and moved his valuable arse to the chair next to her, which was better suited to his expanding form anyway. He'd been the good metamour, Hermione could see, reading between the lines. She highly suspected Erika had something to do with this invitation. 

Either way, Neville continued picking away at his bacon, and Severus set about swallowing his with considerably greater fervor. 

Pushing away her own plate, and replacing it with her book, Hermione extended her legs in either direction. She found Severus' foot waiting for her on one side, and Neville's ready to receive her on the other. 

What a glorious course of events, to have two men so deeply interested in her that they were willing to both eat breakfast with her? 

Hermione had no idea what she must have done to deserve this, but she was immensely grateful. She could only hope that she would be able to ensure she kept them both feeling loved, cared for, and admired, as much as was within her control. 

And moreover, she was feeling quite proud of Severus. Probably not as proud as he was of himself, but still, what he'd done was really setting the stage for a positive experience with Neville. He was helping her with this relationship, despite his own emotional misgivings. And that, she thought, was beautiful. 

She told him so, as they left the Great Hall together, arm in arm as he escorted her to the dungeons, since Neville had to head out to the greenhouses. 

"Beautiful?" he asked for clarification, and if they hadn't been walking and focusing on getting her to class on time, she imagined he'd have blushed a little bit more. "That... no one's ever said that about anything I've done, before. Not that I can recall," he said faintly, and then, after a minute or so of silence, he abruptly stopped, and pulled them aside into an alcove behind a suit of armor. "No," he said, pausing and turning towards her. "No one has. I'm certain of it." 

There was a darkness in his eyes, a fire of entropy, and Hermione felt the intensity of them nearly overwhelm her. 

"Please," he said, and he was looking at the floor. "Please say it again." 

"I think it's beautiful," Hermione said, standing up on tiptoe and kissing him on his awkward large nose. "It's a beautiful thing, what you're doing. Making things comfortable for him. It might be uncomfortable in the short run, but it will ease things over for the future. And it's beautiful that you're thinking about this situation with that kind of foresight." 

She added, thoughtfully, pressing her fingers into his soft double-chin and turning his head up, to meet her eyes, "And you, are too, by the way. You are beautiful." 

He seemed unsure of how to respond, and refused to look at her anymore, instead returning to stare at the ground. His chest heaved, and Hermione sensed he could use closeness. 

"I love you," she said, embracing him warmly. "And I hope that someday, you can tell me that you love me, too." 

There was a deep, warm silence between them as her words seemed to settle around them like a heavy mantle of warmth. 

Then, the first bell rang, and the tepid trickle of students heading to class became a river, and the noise of it was invigorating. 

He seemed to take it as reassuring. Leaning in towards her ear, he whispered lowly, “Hermione, how do you think I could not love you?” 

Her breath was completely taken away at that moment by a deep and probing kiss. He seemed not to want to talk about it, though, and he let go of her almost as suddenly as he’d initiated. “Now go to your class,” he said with a smirk, and patted her firmly on the buttocks. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

Feeling her heart light and airy, Hermione practically skipped to class. 

Life was truly wonderful.


	44. pre hogsmeade dinner

They soon were in Hogsmeade. Hermione met up with Neville promptly after class. Severus let her know that he'd meet them there. 

And so it was with trepidation that the two colleagues walked to Hogsmeade, hand in trembling hand. 

It had just begun to snow - not very hard, just a light dusting. It melted even before it landed on the ground. Hermione did notice, though, that Neville was prone to shivering. He was wearing several layers of clothing, and what looked like two mufflers, and even still he clutched his briefcase tightly to him as though it could help insulate him better. 

"Poor dear," Hermione said, and wrapped her arm around him. Her hip came closer to his, until it softly squished into his bony thigh. Her plump love-handles filled in some of the space between his rickety bones and her own, and she felt him breathing fitfully. 

"Poor both of us," Neville said, trying in vain to keep his teeth from chattering. "We're both about to be skewered, 'Mione." 

Despite the fact that the very thought of getting skewered by Severus Snape made a blush of desire rise on Hermione's cheeks, she maintained her dignity and brushed her bushy hair back off of her forehead with a gentle gloved hand. "You're making such a fuss," she said, and then she stopped under the first streetlight of Hogsmeade It was glowing with purple and yellow fairy lights, and the next lantern ahead of them was lit up in green and orange. The lights inside moved, and the effect was rather like looking at light reflected off of a swimming pool - it moved gently and bumblingly, illuminating the area in beautiful unearthly colors. 

"Are you sure you're all right to do this?" asked Hermione seriously, staring into Neville's eyes. Granted, she was partly making an excuse to stop, since she was already quite out of breath from their brief walk uphill to Hogsmeade. "We don't have to do it. You can go back if you want to." 

"No," Neville said, with gritted teeth. There was determination in his face, and she knew she wouldn't be able to dissuade him even if she didn't think it was the best thing. As it happened, she thought that doing this was, indeed, the best thing for them - but she couldn't be certain. "I'm doing it." 

"Great," Hermione said, "then stop complaining about it." She pulled his hand and kept walking along the path, letting the lights dance across their faces as they went. 

"It's bloody Severus Snape," moaned Neville, but there was something sporting about his complaining, Hermione now realized. It was somewhat for show, but also to cover up how terrified Neville was. "I'll complain as much as I bloody well please." 

"Then you won't be getting any dessert," Hermione said stiffly, and the threat worked like a charm. 

Oh yes. Whatever trouble Neville had been having with his appetite was gone now. Or at least, he had an increased interest in food. Hermione blushed with pride and the heat of desire as Neville stopped them. Abruptly, he put his hand on the back of her head, and he pressed his lips against hers. 

And then, for the first time since that doomed night in the gazebo, he kissed her deeply. 

Hermione felt her head spin. Neville had been mostly too ill to even think about anything other than gentle cuddling for the duration of their new relationship. This... this was new. And foretold good things. 

And there was a spark of vitality in his kiss that made her nearly swoon in excitement. The way he moved his tongue around her mouth, it was unagile and unpracticed, but the way he curled his tongue under hers, the way he sucked her lower lip, the way he pressed against her so forcefully... Kissing Neville was so different than Snape. Snape was languid, sensual, and erotic in how he approached kissing her. But there was also a sense of lackadaisicalness sometimes, a sort of affected indifference. Not always, of course - there were times when he was incredibly possessive and needy, and then his kisses lost that sense of feline coldness in favor of a more feral approach. 

But kissing Neville was altogether different. Perhaps the best comparison would be between a Labrador retriever and a cat. Neville's kissing of her was earnest and wholehearted. She had no doubt that he was, in that moment, wholly realizing their kiss. It wasn't nearly as sensual as kissing Snape, but then again, it didn't have to be. So much was communicated in just the way Neville's tongue curled around hers, a sense of warmth and affection that seemed impossible for Severus to emanate.

It felt good. 

And it felt even better to know that her enjoyment of Neville's kiss was completely sanctioned in the context of her relationship with Severus. 

Indeed, Hermione nearly felt faint at the knowledge that she had won the admiration of two very different men. 

She felt, immediately, like she didn't deserve it. Her mood suddenly plummeted, and as it did, her engagement with Neville stopped. She lowered her head and, taking a deep breath, she pressed her face into Neville's shoulder. 

"Why do you like me?" she murmured, feeling despondent. "I don't... I don't understand at all." 

"Hermione," said Neville, clearly uncertain of what to say or do. He drew his arms carefully around her, and then pulled her tightly against him. She felt slightly uncomfortable, given how little meat there was on him, but she reciprocated, wrapping her arms around his barely convex middle. Only his many layers of clothes made him at all bearable to hug for comfort. 

Then again, his grasp was strong and firm around her, and she felt his fingers kneading slightly at her love-handles. He was tentative, exploring. It certainly didn't seem like his preference, but he did seem like he was receptive to figuring out what on earth she liked about being a bigger person. 

"You're the most brilliant witch or wizard I know," Neville said, and Hermione felt him rocking slightly, and she swayed along with him. "And it's an honor to be with you. How could anyone not like you?" 

"Thank you," she said, and she sighed. She felt like he hadn't said what she needed to hear. 

And fortunately, Neville was quick enough to read her. 

"Is there something else bothering you?" he asked softly, and he pressed a kiss into her soft buttery cheek. 

"I mean," Hermione said, and sighed. She buried her face thoroughly in his shoulder. His woolen robe was rough against her face, but it smelled warm and comforting. He didn't use any cologne that she could tell, but he smelled neutral and good, like cake batter or beeswax. "I wish people bothered to tell me something other than how smart I am. I'm... a bit burned out on it." 

She hadn't even realized it herself until she said it. The words hung heavy in the darkness that surrounded them, interrupted only by the flaring fairy-lights that moved across the shadows. 

"Well," Neville said, and he was clearly trying to scounge up something else to say. "I... well, 'Mione, you're so much more than your mind. You've... you've got such kindness in you. Such - such love. Including for those who don't normally get a lot of love from the world." 

"What," Hermione snorted, taking a deep breath. "You mean houselves?" 

"Yes," Neville said, "but also Snape." 

She pulled away from him just enough to look into his eyes. There was just a bit of bitterness there, but mostly admiration. 

"You think it's testament of me being *good,* me being with him?" Hermione asked. "I do want you to know, Neville, that the thought hasn't crossed my mind. Please don't think of my relationship with Severus as one where I'm trying to fix him, or something." 

"Oh, but aren't you?" Neville asked, and there was a sadness in his eyes. "Isn't this what you're doing with me? Fixing me?"

"I... that makes it sound as if the humanity is taken out of my relationships with you both," Hermione said, though her conversation with McGonagall weighed heavily in the back of her mind. "Both of you deserve to be loved, and loved without the indignity of the assumption that I know how to fix either of you." 

She looked around them, looking back from whence they'd come. The cobblestone path to the castle was broken in places after years of poor curatorship, and also the recent battle. The trees were barren and cold in the darkness, and shook in the wind. 

"I don't want you to feel like I'm trying to fix you," she added, "I want to be helpful to you, but only so much as you yourself want." 

"But what if I can't help but feel like I'm just a project?" Neville asked, and she saw that there were tears in his eyes. They were brimming, but hadn't come to spill down his face yet. 

"You're just going to have to trust me," said Hermione, "and take what I say at face value. Otherwise..." 

She pressed her hand against his chest, and she leaned in closer, looking down. "Otherwise this can't continue." 

"I... is it all right if we say it's a work in progress, then?" Neville asked, after bated breath. "Taking you at face value?" 

"Certainly we can," Hermione said. And she reached up and kissed Neville on his wan cheek. "Human relationships are complex and mysterious things. I don't expect you to be inhuman." 

"All right," Neville said, in what sounded like a satisfied grumbly way, and he clasped his arms around her one last time. "Then let's get on to the pub, shall we?" 

"Yes," Hermione said, and she looked up at him. He seemed a bit more copacetic now, and she was glad to see that the worry seemed partially erased from his face. "Let's go."


	45. hogsmeade dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am 100% sorry for this chapter.

Severus was waiting for them at the pub in Hogsmeade. There wasn't a sign of worry on his face, but Hermione could see the way that he stood abruptly at the arrival of Hermione and Neville, the way he pulled out Hermione's chair (carefully positioned so that he would be on one side of her and Neville would be on the other), and the way he settled down at the table... no one who didn't know him intimately would have seen anything amiss. Even so, Hermione hadn't a clue what was going on in his poor head. It was probably gnawing at itself over and over again, each moment growing more and more obsessed with the dramatic melodrama that fueled it. 

She nearly rolled her eyes as she noticed how jittery he was, but that would be far from kind, much less polite, so she simply kissed him on the cheek, letting her lips linger close to his ear. 

"Thank you, my love," she said in a low voice, feeling the warmth of his face. He was so physically hot. It was... interesting. Not the first time she'd noticed it, but perhaps it was more noticeable after being so close to Neville the past several minutes. 

She laid her lips against his cheek again just once more, letting the slightest bit of tongue touch his skin, and she caught the faintest hint of a shiver in him. 

"Please," he said with a self-assured rumble, "sit." 

She took the chair that was so graciously proffered, and Neville, looking as if he were once again confronting Nagini's snake, sat next to her. 

"I took the liberty of ordering firsts," Severus said, "mostly out of impatience." 

He was in a bit of a mood, Hermione observed the way he drew out his s sounds was one he only used when his patience was being tried on many levels. 

"Are we late?" Hermione asked, glancing around them for a clock. 

"Rather," said Severus, and she saw him lean back in his chair. Her eyes trained on his, and she saw in his eyes such a fearful pain that it nearly consumed her to merely glance into it. 

"I... I'm sorry," Hermione said, though still confused slightly. "I didn't realize we were that off." 

She glanced at Neville, who was frowning at his pocket watch, and he hastily put it away. 

Neville was a lot more transparent. Something was wrong, and Hermione suspected what it was based purely on Neville's body language. 

"I think we've had an issue of miscommunication about time," Hermione said, and in the same breath, Neville said, "I think this was a bad idea." 

"No," responded Severus with a low grumble. He rose with an abrupt motion. "I'll be back presently," he said, and there was no emotion visible in his eyes. He was, Hermione guessed, trying to get himself under control. But was it going to require her intervention, or was he going to be all right for the dinner? 

Perhaps this had been an ill-fated plan. Perhaps she was indeed too greedy, trying to have more than one man to indulge her desires. 

She watched as Severus stalked off to the lavatory, and she glanced at Neville. He was getting up. 

No, she told herself, she needed to stop telling herself she didn't deserve this. She realized that this was part of the package, part of the blessing and curse that was engaging in multiple consensual relationships. It was a balancing act, and once it was calibrated, it would be exquisite. But to get to that point would require training and hard work. 

This wasn't going to end if she had anything to say about it. It might not be pleasant to do a simple dinner, but they were going to do this. They'd planned it. Hermione couldn't imagine behaving like this when Erika would come to town. 

Then again, the boys hadn't even exchanged a single sentence with each other and they were already falling apart. Would she really, actually, be copacetic when Erika came in from the States? 

She knew she needed to not have confidence that she could be better. 

But she also needed to know that they all did their best to try. If they all wanted this, they should at least give it their best effort. 

"Please," Hermione said, and pressed her hand into Neville's shoulder. Not much given to fighting at this stage in his illness, even though he was doing much better, he simply settled back down into the chair and sighed. "Don't go. Not yet. We haven't even started." 

"*He* left," Neville said, and there was such venom in his voice that Hermione was startled. She leaned down and looked into Neville's eyes. He was glowering at the door into which Severus had disappeared. 

What an impossible situation. Hermione sighed. 

"Then show him you're better than that," Hermione said desperately, and then gathered herself up and hastened to the door where Severus was. 

She pressed her ear against the door and listened, half expecting a rampage of glass and other things breaking, but instead she heard nothing but silence. There were no sounds. There was nothing indicating that Severus was even still in there. She knocked, and heard no answer. She knew he probably hadn't apparated, but she was beginning to consider the possibility more seriously when he opened the door and she practically fell into his arms. 

"Sorry," she murmured, grasping his forearm for support. "Are you all right?" 

"Perfectly," Severus responded, and he indeed seemed like he had a renewed sense of self control. "I'm sorry for my absence, but was it so long that you had to seek me out?" 

"I just..." Hermione began, and sighed. "I'm concerned you're repressing everything." 

"Repressing what?" he asked, and there was a coldness and ambivalence in his voice that made her heart grow still with sadness. Whatever he'd been feeling, it was far out of her reach for the moment. At least their dinner was safe, though she knew it'd be a bit rushed on all their parts - Severus because he was holding himself barely together, Neville because he hated Snape so much, and Hermione because she just wanted to shout at them and bring them to their senses. 

But she truly did understand that would not work very well, so she just grasped Severus' hand warmly and escorted him to the table. 

Neville was picking slightly at the appetizer that had landed on the table - a steamed artichoke, dismantled and arrayed like a flower around a beautiful creamy sauce. He'd taken one leaf and was chewing the tip thoughtfully. He hastily put it down once he saw the couple returning to the table. 

"We, erm, are staying, I take it?" Neville asked, hesitantly reaching for another artichoke leaf. 

"Of course," Hermione said with forced cheerfulness. This was going to be difficult, but she realized they'd gotten past the critical point of failure. They were embarking on this difficult adventure for sure now. "Now please, be a dear, and pass me some of that." 

Neville did her that small favor, and Severus just grunted his approval when Hermione pushed the plate towards his direction. 

The three of them scanned their menus awkwardly, not saying anything to each other at all. 

Then, once the waitstaff took their orders, they sat in silence until Neville, trying to adjust in his seat, accidentally passed gas. 

His entire face flushed red, and he looked between Hermione and Severus, trying to decide who was going to shame him the most, Hermione read. She wondered every day why Neville hadn't been sorted into Hufflepuff, but perhaps his Gryffindor judgmental streak was something he kept well concealed most of the time. 

To Hermione's immense relief, Severus' initial look of confusion was soon consumed by a hearty snicker. 

"I'm sorry, professor," murmured Neville, looking as helpless as a trapped mouse. "My potions have had some unintended side effects that we've had to balance with laxatives, and while it's certainly standard for my condition, there's only so much I can control-" 

He was cut off as Severus began convulsively laughing. Perhaps the volcanic emotions he'd been experiencing needed some sort of release and this was the easiest one. In any case, Severus was unable to get a grip of himself for several minutes as he laughed uproariously. 

It was unnerving. Hermione and Neville were similarly sitting in shock and bewilderment as Severus laughed himself out. Then, once he took a deep breath and stabilized himself, he said, "My dear Professor Longbottom, no need to apologize. I'm fully aware of the side effects of your condition's treatment regimen." 

This proceeded to make him start laughing all over again, though, and Hermione and Neville kept on feeling awkward and unsure of how to proceed. Until finally, Hermione shook her head, grasped Severus' hand, and said, "Are you all right?"

A weird grin on his face, Severus took a few short quick breaths, and his face settled into its usual more neutral repose. "Of course. Of course." 

But that somehow signaled the turning point in their dinner that night. Severus, at that moment, managed to escape the foul mood he'd been in, and Hermione finally could relax. Neville didn't manage to really unwind much - he sat nearly ramrod straight the entire rest of dinner, and barely ate, as if beseeching his bowels to keep their symphonies for after he'd escaped Snape's presence. 

Still, at the end of it, he was smiling half-heartedly at Hermione's poor jokes about potions and herbology, and Severus had promised that Hermione could take Neville to the spot where he'd taken her to collect the yarrow and hemlock earlier in the fall.

Dinner itself was lackluster, unfortunately. Pub food wasn't particularly glamorous, and after so many months of nothing but the best of house-elf fare, Hermione found herself disappointed by the repast from the restaurant. 

But that night, she walked back to the castle with two men on either of her arms. One of them seemed to be in a slightly manic mood, and the other seemed to be quite depressed, but somehow these two long-term enemies had managed to make peace enough to be civil to each other during a joint dinner. 

Hermione marveled at this all the way home. 

"How was this?" she asked as they approached the castle doors. She felt Severus clasp her tighter, and Neville let go gently to go ahead and get the door. 

"I- are you asking me?" Neville asked, as she grabbed his arm that he tried to weave out of her own. 

"Yes, of course," Hermione said, and she pulled Neville closer to her. She felt Neville sweat in the crook of his arm, and Severus' hot breath on her skin as he leaned towards her, possessively breathing in the scent of her neck. 

"I... erm, it was all right," Neville said, and there was a look of relief in his eyes. "It could have been much worse." 

Severus didn't add anything, merely snorting. 

Hermione draped one arm around Severus' wide waist and held him close to her. "I'm glad you came," she said, "it is... good, I think." 

"I agree," Severus said, to Hermione's immense surprise. She realized his mood seemed to have settle down. It seemed like he wasn't really on alert to the same degree - instead he seemed to be fairly content. While Neville had been abstinent with his food, Severus hadn't in the least, and he'd stuffed himself thoroughly. 

"Erm," Neville said, and gently disentangled himself from Hermione again, "Thanks." 

He proceeded to quietly head to the doors of the castle and open them. "After you," he said, and Hermione and Severus walked through the doors. Once they were over the threshold, he amended, "Actually, I think I'll stay out a while." 

His hand was in his pocket where Hermione had seen him fidgeting with a box of cigarettes. 

"All right," Hermione said, "good night." 

"Good night," answered Neville, and turned away. 

"What?" Severus growled, "No goodnight kiss? Are you mad?" 

Hermione found herself chuckling at the suggestion. Neville himself simply looked pale. The moonlight shone behind him, making him almost a mere silhouette, and he looked pallid and nervous. 

But Severus had let go of Hermione, unwinding himself from her with evident reluctance. "Don't you think this woman deserves it?" he asked, and with a grand gesture, he pressed his own lips on her soft hand in a gentlemanly fashion. 

Hermione blushed despite herself. 

Neville looked as scared as if this were a trap. But after glancing between Severus and Hermione multiple times, he finally took a deep breath and, swiftly, he advanced upon Hermione, drew her into his arms, and pressed into her lips. 

It wasn't as good a kiss as from earlier, and indeed it was quite short, but she could tell how stressed he was. 

"Thank you for a nice evening," said Neville, letting Hermione go and addressing the two of them. "Good night." 

He then proceeded to go out the doors and close them gently behind. 

Severus looked simply amused at the proceedings, as far as she could tell in the near-darkness of the entryway. 

"You're so strange," Hermione said, shaking her head, "So full of surprises." 

"So it would seem," Severus said, sounding as if he was engaging in a private joke. 

They went to bed that night together, Hermione drawing upon his warmth, feeling delighted at the way his fingers curled around her, pressing her closer to him. 

Somehow they'd survived this, and Hermione could not be more grateful.


	46. airport parents

The air was cold and crisp in the bright and early morning of November 21st as Hermione and Severus apparated behind a lonely dumpster at Heathrow.

"So why is she visiting now, of all times?" Hermione asked, stepping gingerly around a mountain of trash bags.

"Americans can't be bothered to wait for Christmas, so they devised a holiday for late autumn based on the anniversary of their second attempt at colonizing their continent," Severus snarked, drawing a hand through his hair and wrinkling his nose. She wasn’t sure if it was at the smell or the concept of Thanksgiving. "Come," he gestured, and they walked towards the long side of the airport where pickups occurred.

It felt like they emerged in a sea of muggles. Liveried men with placards stood impassively, just close enough to the escalators that they were visible to all descending. Several older couples waited breathlessly for their children to return home from Uni. A few single people hung around, looking moody and jumpy, waiting for partners returning from business trips.

Even in plainclothes, Hermione and Severus did not fit in well. They lingered next to a sad potted plant and held hands, Hermione running her thumb over Severus' palm, and Severus sweating profusely in the iridescent light.

“You all right?” asked Hermione, and Severus snorted impassively. His other motions belied his nervousness, however - the way his fingers refused to hold still in her hand, the rapid pace of his breathing, the movement of his eyes across every woman’s face that came down the escalators.

Hermione also was nervous, but her nervousness was more akin to how she’d felt in anticipation of their dinner with Neville the other night. Severus seemed distinctly more agitated than he had been then. She remained concerned, and did her best to remain calm as possible, even to the extent of regulating her breathing.

The digital screens in the airport updated automatically with a dizzying array of numbers and letters that, if Hermione hadn't been so good at arithmancy, would have been quite distracting indeed. Severus seemed acclimated to it, and only once in a while stared malevolently at the information, as if daring it to contradict the information he had.

Erika Holmes was due to arrive at 7:15am, and not a minute sooner or later.

Of course that didn't happen, airplanes being what they are.

As 7:15 passed, Severus growled and pressed his forehead against the wall. The screen said Erika’s plane was delayed by an hour.

"We have time," Hermione said comfortingly, "my classes will keep. Time turners are exactly for this kind of situation."

"My patience, however, will not keep," Severus seethed, and with an aggrieved sigh he dragged them both towards some empty benches near the baggage carousel. The benches were hard, made of an uncomfortable mesh wire, and had arms. The arms meant he had to jostle to squeeze himself in, and the net result was that he looked like a cake oozing out of its mold at every possible place.

Hermione sat down next to him, admiring the view all the while, and pressed her head on his shoulder.

"No need to panic, love," she murmured, and kissed him fondly. "We can wait."

He seemed to want to reply, but they were interrupted by a gentle voice.

"Excuse me?"

The voice emerged from behind them, and Hermione arched her head to look back. Then she felt like her brain had dropped out of her skull.

Her parents were standing there, bags in hand, looking just the same as they always had - her father in a blue windbreaker and her mother in sensible shoes - but they were also cloudy-eyes, just as she had left them.

"My name is Wendell," said her father, extending a big familiar hand to her. Hermione took it numbly as he shook it, as introducing himself to a stranger. It felt eerie. "We are here to look for our daughter. She disappeared several years ago and we believe she came here."

He frowned, and despite the cloudiness in his eyes, Hermione could see how sad he looked.

Hermione's mother seemed significantly less distraught, as was her wont. "You do remind me a bit of Wendy's great aunt, Hermione. Doesn't she, dear? Her hair especially."

Severus, clearly bewildered, stood up slowly, and faced the people who were potentially menacing his girlfriend. His eyes met Hermione's, and Hermione practically screamed in her mind, "Shit - these are my parents!" She hoped he picked up on it through legilimancy, though she knew he tried to keep that skill tucked deep within his mind these days.

"Pleasure to meet you," drawled Severus, extending his hand. "Siger Prince."

Hermione's eyebrow twitched as he pronounced his pseudonym - bookmarking it in her mind to ask him about it.

It never occurred to her to think that hard about what she would do in this situation. Granted, it had seemed patently unlikely to come up - she had counted on never meeting her parents in England again until she brought them back. Silly, she realized.

She looked at Severus with frustration. This was not what she had expected to deal with on the Monday morning prior to meeting her Metamour. He seemed unrealistically calm and collected - a total reversal of where he’d been minutes prior. It seems that stress brought out the best in him, though that was an unfortunate habit of which she intended to break him.

"We can help you," Hermione said finally, realizing she might as well face the music. "Just wait a moment?"

"No matter," said her father amiably, "We’ll manage, I think. Can we get a cab out there?" He gestured towards the door leading to the car park.  

"...Siger," Hermione said, and focused her eyes hard at Severus, begging him to pay attention to their forefront of her mind.

"What is this?" She heard his voice in her mind, and she relaxed slightly.

"My parents," she screeched internally, "help me!"

"Heaven help us," he responded, "your parents?"

He appeared somewhat amused now that there was some explanation. "What can I do to help?"

"Let's just... Stall them," Hermione fumbled. "I need to take off the charm that I put them under years ago. They don't remember me but still the charm is clearly wearing off, they're remembering fragments of their old life.”

"Okay," Severus said in her mind. Then, he glanced around until he saw a photo booth. It appeared to be out of order, but he gestured grandly towards it.

"Wendell, it is our custom in this country to give visitors a gift when they arrive in Heathrow. Would you do me the honor of taking a photograph with me in celebration of your arrival?"

Hermione's father looked as puzzled as could be. "I suppose," he said dubiously.

"Then come," Severus said grandly, grabbing Hermione's father's elbow smoothly and maneuvering him into the booth with such a suave grace that Hermione almost envied her father of Severus' touch.

Hermione's mother looked more suspicious than her father, and she scrutinized Hermione closely. "What is your name?" she asked, pushing her glasses further up her nose with the back of her palm. Hermione noticed with a stab of nostalgia that her mother had pen marks all up and down her wrist - a habit of writing with such fervor that she didn’t realize she was smearing her pages. Hermione had been careful not to inherit that habit, though she sometimes slipped up and did it. It’d become such an automatic effort, to catch herself pressing her wrist against the page, that she had completely forgotten why she’d started trying to catch herself in the first place.

Hermione felt her heart sink. "Would you believe - my name, it's Hermione," she said softly, as if not wanting to believe it herself.

Her mother didn't have any gleam of recognition. She merely nodded. "Suits you well," she said. "Hermione what?"

"Granger," murmured Hermione even more softly.

Again, no lightbulb seemed to go off in her mother's eyes. "What a horrid name," she said with a roll of the eyes, and Hermione's jaw dropped.

She was saved by Severus emerging from the booth, her father in tow. Dr. Oliver Granger looked as if he's been stupefied.

"Next," barked Severus efficiently, and before anyone could complain, he whisked away Hermione's mother into the photo booth.

Hermione was left with her father, who had been clearly brought out of the confounding charms. Severus must not have done much in the way of counseling, however, because Hermione observed her father’s memory thaw out as clearly as if it’d been in the deep freeze. Oliver initially blinked at her, experiencing recognition, and then as it began to dawn on him, his hand flew to his mouth, and he took a deep steadying breath.

Then, it soon became clear that he was trying hard not to cry. His attempt to conceal his emotion barely worked, and he finally broke down crying, throwing himself onto the hard bench and putting his face in his hands.

Hermione was stunned. She’d never - ever- seen her father cry. Not even at his beloved mother’s funeral did she see him pass a tear. He’d always been so stoic and manly - even when he’d got kidney stones as a little tyke and had to lay on the couch for several days until they passed. He’d never appeared weak, helpless, or shed a tear. And now here he was, completely torn to pieces in a public place.

This wasn’t like her father. This wasn’t like him at all.

"Erm, da'?" asked Hermione, sitting down next to her father. She offered her hand, and he took it, but kept his face covered with his spare hand as he sobbed silently.

"I don't understand," he finally said, brushing his face clean of tears and taking a deep breath. "Her... Hermione?"

She nodded gloomily. While deeply distressing to see her father so distraught, obtaining her father’s forgiveness would be easy. It was her mother who really was going to be the trial by fire.

"Yeah," she confessed, feeling her own eyes prickling, "it's me."

"It is *I*," he corrected automatically, but Oliver looked immediately shocked at himself. "But it doesn't matter," he assured her, as if he were afraid his grammar corrections were the reason she’d left them in Australia, and he embraced her warmly, though there was an undercurrent of intense fear in his voice. "How are you, my darling?"

Hermione felt her heart melt, and her prickles began to form her own sobs. What was happening to her father? She didn’t quite understand.

"I missed you," she whimpered, feeling the despair she had felt for so long culminate in a massive wave of relief. What she didn’t articulate was that seeing her father, like this, made her miss him even more - the memory she had of him. She hadn’t remembered him being so childlike, but here he was, cradling her but simultaneously seeming to derive more strength from her than she was receiving from him.

He had changed, Hermione felt, and it wasn’t something superfluous. This was something very deep. She wondered what it might be. Was it just that her memories of her parents were flawed?

In the meantime, Severus emerged from the booth, calm and collected. Hermione's mother was not, however, and she was already glaring daggers at Hermione.

Hermione deserved it, of course. But she wished more than ever that her mother was the forgiving type.

Hermione's father, Oliver-nee-Wendell-nee-Oliver, hadn't let her go. "I can't believe it," he said, "I just don't understand what happened."

"You weren't supposed to understand," Hermione said, and patted her father on the shoulder.

"Why, Hermione?" asked her mother, Rachel Granger-Wilkins. She seems to have pieced together more than Oliver had. But just like Oliver, there was something off about her. She seemed tired - unspeakably, deeply tired. Hermione was unnerved by it.

"I owe both of you an explanation," Hermione said, trying to get a grip on herself and dismiss the odd feeling she had about her parents, "and trust me, I will get to it. But it will take some time, and I really don't have that today."

This was clearly the wrong thing to say. Rachel’s eyes burned in response, Oliver seemed as pathetic as a cat who had fallen into a puddle, and Severus was scanning them both with fierce attention.  

Then his eyes met Hermione’s. "Hermione!" said Severus sharply. "May I talk with you a moment?"

He didn't allow her to disagree, and instead her parents watched in some astonishment as he swept her into the photo booth.

"So what is the plan?" he asked.  His voice was cold and formal.

"What do you mean?" Hermione responded..

"You know what I mean," he said with a snap. "No doubt you have regaled them for all your school years with tales of your awful bully of a professor. Now, tell me our cover story - why are we here?"

Hermione looked abashed. It was true - she'd laid it on pretty heavy in her letters home. Her parents had despised him all the more fully on his behalf.

The truth shone in her eyes, and he seemed to gleam in response - some combination of pride over how his affected disguise had worked, and bitterness at how deeply it had been entrenched in her parent's minds.

"May I make a suggestion?" He asked, his voice taut and crisp. "We are here to go to Australia and find them. You tried before but couldn't undo the memory charm. Say I'm a specialist at these things, which isn't much of a stretch as it happens. Fortunately this happy coincidence means we won't have to go, oh lucky us."

Hermione's eyes widened. "You just came up with that?" she asked, processing all the information.

"Old habits," he said glibly. He gazed into her eyes, already armed against her next question.

"I expect you don't want to simply be introduced as my romantic companion?"

He snorted and rolled his eyes.

"No, really, it isn't funny," she said, feeling her face flush. "I know we haven't talked about this, but there's no reason to laugh at me."

"Hermione," he responded, his voice low and a touch of anger in it, "let's not pretend as though I'm bring-home-to-the-parents material. Usually that is a prelude to marriage proposals, I believe? And that simply would be unfair of me to suggest, for so many reasons. Much less the day you are unexpectedly reuniting with your parents who you filed away for half a decade."

"I have many questions," Hermione hissed, "but most specifically why you think you aren't worth introducing to my parents as my lover, or boy friend, or what have you."

His laugh was dark and self deprecating, and he refused to meet her eyes, instead staring up at the grimy ceiling of the photo booth. "Do you even need to ask?" he responded, and she could tell his anxiety was rising markedly.

"Fine," she said, standing and smoothing her dress. "We will go with your story for today. But be forewarned," she said, "one of the reasons I "filed away" my parents is because I don't lie to them. And if they ask about the nature of our relationship, I will tell the truth.”

"Fine," he said, realizing he wasn't going to get much farther with this line of inquiry for the moment, "and by the way - let's talk about that spell for a moment."

"Ah yes," Hermione responded, "I'm quite pleased you managed to undo it so quickly. It took me hours to set up."

"Unfortunately, my dear," Severus said with a thin warmth, which was as close as he could come to being reassuring while explaining how she’d spectacularly fucked up. “The spells you used, while not permanent, do have some permanent damage. I removed the confounding components and the false memories that you transplanted in their consciousness, but you did some Substantial damage to their minds in doing what you did.”

“Oh no,” Hermione said, feeling her chest tighten.

“You didn't do any changes to their subconscious minds, which means that the memory charms you placed didn't work long term because their consciousness and subconsciousness were constantly in battle with each other. Together they pieced together some fragments of their subconscious - which might have caused them even more permanent psychological damage.”

“Oh no,” she murmured, feeling her breath shorten. “I didn’t know...”

Severus sighed. His eyes were melancholy, and she realized it was because he was being reminded of their so-significant age difference. Where had he been during the time that she’d been putting her parents in Australia? “It was of course impressive magic for someone of your age,” he said, “but I'm sure that with your maturation of your knowledge, even today without prior preparation you could do a more effective job with less effort than that time you did it then.

“Memory charms in particular,” he went on, “are truly difficult skills. Undersung for their difficulty, in many ways. They require the dexterity and precision of a surgeon, and the fortitude of a healer.” He sighed, warming up to the subject. Hermione listened with her usual rapt attention - though it was a little bit more difficult to hear, because of what it meant - putting her parents in danger.

 

“There are so many ways to mess up a memory spell,” Severus went on, “many with irreversible damage. And yet because of the way they are presented in media, people take them lightly, confounding people right and left as so pleased them. Most of the basic charms used in school have little to no permanent effect, but once anyone purchases a standard master's level textbook they can get the more devious stuff. And we don't teach people how to use that stuff, because it is ironically dangerous. I have always been an advocate for teaching anyone keen on a concept everything about a topic, particularly how to keep themselves safe while performing practical applications. Whereas those who have no whit or care about a dangerous thing, like potions, shouldn't be on the core curriculum.”

Feeling the shame burning her - it irked her so much to be even thought of in the same room as being careless - she snapped, “Save the lecture.”

Severus’s brow furrowed, and she took a stabilizing breath. “Severus, don’t break down on me now. I love you, and I love what you're saying, mostly. But now is not really the time.”

“Of course,” he said. He looked at her, before cautiously adding, “Suffice it to say, it was relatively easy to break the bonds of their conscious minds because they were already fairly worn away. Your parents are clever people, and because of that I’m sure they were abnormally successful in getting through the charms. But every brain is different, as most books neglect to say, and setting up memory modification spells is not a one size fits all situation, despite what some numbskull authors might imply. All memories have different means of being encoded and because of that, each person attempting to modify memories must target multiple elements of the person's psyche and identify the primary channels of memory. One common side effect of poorly affected memory spells is paralysis and loss of life - because when tinkering with the memory, most people do not realize, one can accidentally snap some wires in the brain related to autonomic functions like breathing and the heartbeat, and muscle memory functions like walking and swimming. It is indeed rare that any memory modification comes without a somatic effect.”

Hermione proceeded to realize how very dangerous her endeavors had been. Her own anxiety quadrupled her problem and magnified it immensely. Despite Severus’ measured explanation, she felt like he was telling her that her parents being alive at this point was a miracle, really. Given how much modification she made to her damn spells because they weren't working like she wanted... She'd built a web of destruction around her parents. She was grateful they were here and that she had run into them by such a chance, and she felt nearly suicidal at the idea that she had nearly done them in by her attempt to protect them.

"I understand, Severus," she said softly, her head slumping with the overwhelming guilt at being admonished.

Because he was already closely attending to her, he picked up on the deep feelings of inadequacy and sadness immediately.

"Come now," he said, "come now."

He pressed her into his arms, and she wilted against his softness with relief, a welcome distraction. His muggle clothes fit him a little snugly, which was exactly how she liked - a simple dark green button down with black trousers and a dark grey greatcoat. He was warm and snuggly, and heavenly to touch. In the dark recesses of her mind, she wanted comfort and reassurance in the most basic and human way possible - sex. She wanted him now, even knowing her parents were outside in shock.

Severus seemed to understand, and he held her closer to her. "I suppose your parents are appreciating the time to conference," Severus said, and he pressed his lips into Hermione's soft, buoyant hair.

She sighed and embraced him more fervently. "You're just making an excuse," she said.

"You can leave any time you want," he said, holding her closer with a firm hand that threatened to press her into an unbreakable embrace, "but... I need to track the incoming flights."

Hermione just waved her hand and buried her face in Severus’ soft breasts, and a mirage of the screen from outside shows up on the darkened screen in the photo booth.

As they looked, it appeared that Erika's flight was delayed even further.

"Satisfied?" asked Hermione, and Severus nodded.

"Somewhat," he said, and he pressed tightly against her until she realized his member was at attention.

"Mm," Hermione said, "Kinky."

"Just to let you know what you're in for tonight," he said, and, with a deep breath, he added, "Also, if it pleases you, though Merlin knows why it would, you can tell your parents I am your... Romantic partner or whatnot."

Hermione's sadness immediately turned. "It would please me a great deal."

He nodded. The tips of his hair brushed against Hermione’s cheeks.  "Unfortunately I can't support you if they disown you. At least not until I hit a massively lucrative patent."

Hermione kissed his lovely soft cheek and steeled herself against the firestorm she was sure to ensure. Them, with a surrender to the future, she went outside. 


	47. sev disappears, erika

They ended up sitting in the comfy chairs of an airport coffee shop, but the atmosphere was still stifling. The fogginess in the eyes of Rachel Wilkins-Granger was gone, but Oliver Granger still seemed a bit out of it.

Rachel, was fiercely angry about the whole affair in a way that reassured Hermione that little personality damage has been done. Still, the sense of fatigue seemed to pervade everything Rachel said and did, from stirring her coffee to starting her interrogation of Hermione. Oliver, for his part, was as toothless as usual, erring on the side of benevolent and permissive.

"What a fortunate coincidence it happened this way," Oliver said, settling down into a comfy chair, his mood much brighter after he had a few sips of a mocha latte in him. (For a skinny man, he indulged himself quite a lot on sweet things.) "I still can't quite believe our good luck. Thank goodness you didn't head all the way to Down Under before you realized we were stuck back here!"

"Yes," Rachel said, her tone terse. "What _luck_."

She hadn't completely accepted the brief tale of explanation that Hermione and Severus had presented. With that suspicious note, she sipped her austere black tea. She cast a glance at Severus, who was busily engaged in eating a bran cake. He had murmured his drink order to the barista to hide the fact that he'd asked for double whip and triple caramel for his own latte. Hermione heard it, being close to his side, and she'd pinched him affectionately to see his belly jiggle. He'd cast her a severe glare that, in a more intimate context, would have made her giggle. Given the circumstances, she'd just smiled and turned away and squeezed his hand.

She was still holding it tightly since they'd left the photo booth together. She thought it was more mature, to quietly announced her romantic connection to "Siger" by this simple gesture. Rachel was swift on the uptake and seemed to still be evaluating Serverus' weaknesses. For, Hermione knew, her mother would principally focus on those like a hawk. Heaven knew her mother had harped on Ron and Harry enough over the years. (Hermione's passing crushes on both of them could scarcely pass by unnoticed to Rachel).

"So," Rachel said finally, as the three others tried their best to ignore Rachel's previous comment, "when's the due date, Hermione?"

It was clearly a jibe at her body's size - Hermione, at her plumpening 221 pounds and waist of forty-seven inches, Hermione was nearly a hundred pounds heavier than when she'd last seen her parents. Granted, being a teenager of 130-odd and five feet high wasn't skinny, but it certainly wasn't terribly predictive of what was to happen to Hermione's body.

In response, Hermione cast a warning glare at her mother, and cast her eyes down again, picking at her scone.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Rachel said, but it was clear she wasn't sorry at all. There was a sharpness behind her pacifying tone. "Forgive me. I shouldn't have assumed. You've always just been so... petite."

"It's been five years since you last saw me, mother," Hermione said, "and I don't want to talk about it."

"All right, all right," said Oliver, who exuded the sense that he couldn't care less what size Hermione was or wasn't. "She doesn't want to talk about it. So," he went on, and clapped Severus on the shoulder heavily. Severus quietly seethed. "Tell us about your man."

"I'd love to," Hermione said, "but don't you want to talk about... Everything else?"

"All in good time," assured Oliver heartily, putting on his best listening face - which was about as convincing as a Labrador retriever abstaining from a treat. "What do you do, Siger?"

"I'm a potions master," Severus said quietly. "With specialties in what you'd call immunology and endocrinology. But I tend to dabble in cross-systems interactions, and have done some projects in other disciplines, including neurology and pharmacy."

"Ah," Oliver said with relief, hearing Severus speak doctor language. Severus was as close as he could be to passing win Oliver's approval at this point. "So are you involved with research, or more practical applications?"

"I have had the good fortune to become involved In experimental research, with some more standard studies. Mostly I am involved in developing and brewing prototypes, and I collaborate with a practical team at St. Mungo's hospital, if you've heard of that."

"I see," Oliver Said, a classic phrase that signaled to Hermione that the conversation was about to go far over his head. "And what sorts of projects are you doing with the hospital?"

"They span a variety of areas," Severus said, and the frown on his face indicated he saw through Oliver's worldliness. "I'm not sure if you want to hear about them in detail."

"Oh please, go ahead," Oliver said, and with his authentic forwardness, he added, "I don't know how much of it I'll be able to keep up with, it's been awhile since medical school. But I am terribly interested."

"If you insist," Severus said, and began detailing his various projects. All of which Hermione was already intimately familiar with, and which this writer, dear readers, cannot keep up with, I'm sad to say. It all sounded very promising, I assure you.

In the meantime, while the men were occupied, Hermione's mother found the opportunity to grill Hermione directly.

"So," Rachel asked, her face fiery, "how did you think we'd feel about this?"

Hermione blinked. "About what in particular?" She asked, because she could not guess which of her recent violations was the most egregious.

"About leaving us in Australia for over five years, isn't that enough?" responsed Rachel, her eyes grey and skeptical. In her eyes there was, Hermione saw as she looked closely, the faintest hint of tears.

...

It wasn't much of a stretch for anyone impartial to conclude the similarity between the likeness of Dr. Wilkins-Granger and that of Hermione herself. But relationships between ambitious mothers and daughters are strange. Hermione tended to be impressed by her mother, and also fearfully afraid that she would not live up to her mother's standards.

Rachel's parents were softcore Jews of the Reformed persuasion. Her father had been a doctor, and her mother had been a nurse. Rachel had one-upped her mother very boldly by becoming a doctor herself, sacrificing having a family until nearly too late. Her parents both died resentfully before Rachel could reproduce.

Oliver was a full ten years younger than her; and they met when she employed him as a junior partner at her practice. It was, despite the urgency behind it, a marriage of love as much as convenience, and Oliver and Rachel were inseparable creatures. Hermione had no idea why. Oliver was warm and bumbley, charismatic and delightful, if a bit over enthusiastic. Whereas Rachel was cold, and smart as a whip - and this combination was ,in her generation especially, more of a liability than an asset.

Hermione was Rachel's first and last child, not counting a college abortion. (This abortion was one which Rachel spoke frankly about, being an explosive feminist wholeheartedly dedicated to women's rights.) Rachel sought to do everything to ensure Hermione had all the advantages necessary to become an even better doctor.

Until, of course, Hermione had gone to magic school instead. Rachel never had quite forgiven her that disappointment. Rachel never said so outright, but it came out in small ways - comments about her friends' children and their progress towards medical school, her constant encouragement to drop out of Hogwarts at any sign that Hermione wasn't happy there, and even her expressed hopes that if Hermione wanted to be a witch, that at least Hermione would marry a doctor.

Oliver, for his part, was benignly negligent when it came to Hermione's education, merely expressing that Rachel knew far better than he did about educating children. He provided Hermione with whatever interesting books she desired, and frequently gave her new ones to explore. He was thoughtful and kind, and for these reasons Hermione tended to prefer her dad over her mother. But he had the horrible habit of not listening at all when Hermione told him about the interesting things she was reading, and also to constantly think of Hermione as a little girl just needing to follow the rules and let the adults handle all the difficult work. He wanted her to be a child and enjoy her childhood, and not fret so much. It was sweet but not particularly helpful support.

Hermione had decided that Rachel and Oliver's chapter as involuntary expats would be good for all involved. Her mother would forget what kind of disappointment she had as a daughter, and more importantly, would not remind Hermione of this while Hermione was engaged in a deadly contents of which mission, if she had tried to explain them, would sound stupid to her mother. Oliver would have told her not to fret about it, but let the adults in her world handle it, they probably knew what they were doing. Rachel would probably have suggested shooting the bastards, with guns. (In all seriousness, Hermione wished she hadn't been so stubborn to dismiss this latter idea. Even Voldemort was not immune to bullets.)

But it wasn't all self serving, Hermione's desire to remove her parents from the country. Rachel had an unfortunate tendency to overextend herself, and her cardiologist had recommended an early retirement due to Rachel's health challenges. This suggestion was one that Rachel had defied vigorously. In fact, the summer after Hermione's fourth year, Rachel had been put in the hospital for irregular palpitations of the heart, and Rachel had fought until she obtained an early discharge - only to collapse at work and be rushed into the ICU until she recovered. But she wasn't back to her old self again even by the time Hermione sent her parents to Australia.

Since Hermione's fifth year, Oliver had confided that he felt fear every time her mother worked late. Rachel subsisted on take-away, with little regard to her own health, in order to author grants, develop programs, and issue hospital emergency surgeries at all hours. Her life was significantly more exciting and strenuous than the lives of most private practice dentists, in other words. But even as she entered her sixties, she was not prepared to stop her frenetic pace of work.

It was this that had also inspired Hermione to take the actions that she had done - Hermione had, in her naiveté, thought her mother being removed from her work would put her mother's health back in the right. Now of course Hermione knew her mother would be vigorously denying herself rest until she died on her feet, because Hermione better understood people now. Ironically she understood her mother better now after having spent five years out of touch. But Hermione forgave her younger self and her dream that her mother might in fact be better off without her work. It had been a kind dream.

…..

"Why did you do this?" asked Rachel again, and Hermione sighed.

"It's complicated," she said, feeling her throat tighten. Then, she took a deep breath. Was it better to just flat-out lie, and say that it was a decision based on a lack of reason? Or was it better to say that this was a premeditated decision?

She found herself comparing the situation to one of manslaughter versus contemplated and planned murder. It was a bit morbid, but it helped her come to a conclusion about how to frame the situation.

"It was a senseless decision, you're completely right," Hermione said, even though this was far from the truth. Her own words echoed in her mind I always tell my parents the truth, and she realized that this wasn't entirely true anymore. She'd always been forthcoming with her parents before, when she was a child.

But now? Now she was an adult. And now she could decide how to act with her parents. She supposed that if she stopped being so forthcoming, they might actually treat her as an adult, with boundaries worth respecting.

It was an uncomfortable feeling, but also a liberating one. She just hoped it wouldn't backfire.

"I was completely at my wit's end when I did it," Hermione said, hoping her mother wouldn't see through her lie. "I had no idea what I was doing. I just… threw together some old spells I hoped would work, and somehow they did." Granted, this latter part was almost true - despite her extensive research beforehand, the spells she'd used hadn't worked quite as well as she'd hoped, and she had indeed needed to improvise.

"But why didn't you trust us?" asked Rachel, "We're your parents. We could have helped you."

"You're right," Hermione said, feeling her mood sink a little bit as she conceded this point. It was a lie - she knew how Voldemort would have, had it even been remotely convenient, slashed their faces open just to get at Hermione.

But perhaps it was better they didn't know how much danger they were in.

"You're right," Hermione went on, "as soon as it was all done, I saw how it was actually worse for you to be out of the country. But it was too late, and there wasn't a way for me to undo it."

"And why so long for you to come for us?" asked Rachel, her voice rising slightly. She seemed on the verge of tears.

Hermione hated to see her mother cry.

"Because I couldn't find a way," Hermione said sadly, looking down at the ground. "Siger and I, we have been working for years, now, to try and figure out how to free you from the mess of charms and modifications I made to your memories. It was only this week we finally had a breakthrough. You saw how easily he slipped you out of them. Don't be fooled - it wasn't simple to come up with the right combination of spells, even though the execution was easy."

Rachel's eyes were shining now, and a few tears began to slip from them. She pressed a napkin primly against her cheeks.

"It wasn't easy," she said, "to come out of that fog. All those memories coming back… it was like being run over by a freight train of one's own feelings."

"I know," Hermione said, "I'm so sorry."

Rachel patted her cheeks again, blinking at Hermione with a sense of foreign helplessness. She seemed to be asking Who even are you?

"And what's more," Rachel asked, pivoting on the subject, "Hermione, is Siger your boyfriend?"

This was loud enough that Oliver and Severus could hear, and the two of them went silent, both gazing over at the women.

Hermione looked over at Severus, and his face was casually neutral. Say whatever you like, Severus reminded her with his eyes.

"You could say that," she said. "He is a person I care for very much, and want to spend more time with."

Her mother looked closely at him. Finally, she asked, "are you Jewish?"

Hermione was shocked. She Knew her mother was from a Jewish family but that they'd been secular enough to be pleased to accommodate the agnostic Oliver Granger into their family.

Severus was taken aback as she was, not for the least of reasons was because he had been effectively on the authoritarian end of a genocidal war.

"Erm, no," he said, his face coloring. "They don't exactly...erm...wizards don't exactly practice Muggle traditions in that way."

"What does that mean?" asked Rachel doggedly.

Severus, giving up, shook his head. "Raised Catholic, practicing agnostic."

"Ah," said Hermione's mother in a tone that seemed neutral. Then she grudgingly smiled, mostly satisfied. "I don't want my daughter to end up with a black hat."

Severus had not, apparently, heard much about Orthodox Judaism in his time in America, and his puzzled look showed as much. But Hermione figured she could explain more about it later.

"So," Rachel was going on, gazing at them both with scrutiny that would have befitted McGonagall. "I still have many questions."

"Ask away, mother," Hermione said, "but do bear in mind that I need to eventually go back and teach my classes for the day."

"Ah," Oliver said, "so you're a professor?"

"Yes," Hermione said, "and actually, Professor Snape and I-"

Then, with horror, she realized what she had said. The name 'Professor Snape' had just spilled out of her mouth like sand out of a macrame bag. And moreover, she didn't have the good sense to cover it up by correcting herself immediately - she instead cast a desperate glance at Severus, who just rolled his eyes at her.

"I knew it," Rachel said, standing up, furious. "I knew you were hiding something!"

"Oh dear heavens," Oliver said, appearing a bit stunned. Then, still a bit foggy in the brain, he asked, "What is it they were hiding, exactly?"

Ignoring her husband completely, "You were her PROFESSOR," Rachel practically shrieked, and approached Severus with malice in her eyes. "And five years later, here you are. When did you set your sights on our little girl? The first day she walked into your class, I'll bet. That's why you treated her like such a bully. Classic abuser tactics - degrade a girl until she's lost all confidence in herself, then scoop her up with praise and supplication. Makes her dependent on your love" she said, violently angry.

Severus, for his part, just sat there, unmoving.

Hermione hadn't been expecting this.

"And how is it that just now you've come to the sudden breakthrough where you can miraculously cure us of the curse that we were under?" Rachel went on. "This was far more than a mere coincidence, my darling girl. This man has had you under his thumb the entire time."

If there had been any truth to any of this, Hermione might have quailed underneath her mother's tremendous might. As it happened, however, Hermione took a few deep breaths, and then softly suggested, "Mother, you've got to calm down. Your heart."

"I will not calm down," Rachel said, beginning to cry outright. "I will not calm down."

Oliver, fortunately, took this as his cue, and he stood up and embraced his wife. "Hush, hush," he murmured, rocking her while Rachel began to sob incoherently in his arms. "It's all right. It's all right."

As Rachel gasped for air on Oliver's shoulder, Severus stood. He stared coldly at the couple. "I think I'd best be off," he said, and he walked away, not looking back at Hermione.

Hermione's heart immediately broke.

"Mother!" she exclaimed, but as her mother just started crying louder, Hermione mellowed her voice. "Mother. I'm sorry," she said quietly. "It's not what you think. It really isn't. We only just started dating a few months ago. He's… I've been engaged, mother," she went on, rambling aimlessly, "Ron and I were engaged. We were going to be married. I didn't even know Severus was alive for… for years. And Ron and I, we were going to be married. Severus didn't even show up again in the wizarding world until relatively recently. He spent years in America, mother. He had another girlfriend. He and I… this is new. And he was never inappropriate in that way when he was a teacher. Never."

This seemed to placate Oliver's apparent concern well enough. "See, darling," he murmured to Rachel, "It isn't like you thought. They haven't been dating very long. She was going to marry Ronald Weasley, that funny kid with the scar on his face and the long hair, isn't that right?"

"No, that was- oh, nevermind," Hermione tried to correct Oliver. He was on her side, repeating back everything Hermione had said to Rachel.

"You know, ma," Hermione said, gently embracing her mother and father together, "You're going to have to learn to trust me, if we're going to continue to be in each others' lives now that you're back. I know I shattered that trust you had in me when I was young and made an incredibly stupid decision that took far too long to correct. But I'm much older now - and grown up, now - and you're going to have to take what I say at face value. Not try and decide that I was smoking in the bathroom because I was reading a book in there so long."

Hermione smiled faintly at the memory of her mother banging on the bathroom door after Hermione had gotten so engaged in a book that she had been in there a full hour - and Rachel had been suspicious and enraged until Hermione opened the door and showed her she'd read over a hundred pages in a book and the window was closed tight the whole time.

"I understand," Rachel said, sniffling. "It's just… oh, Hermione, you're so grown up now. And it feels like it happened overnight. I don't know how to react, Hermione."

"That's right," reassured Oliver, and he kissed his wife gently on the cheek. "That's right."

"Excuse me?" asked a voice behind them, and Hermione felt a tap on her shoulder. Hermione processed the voice, and it seemed fairly familiar to Hermione but wasn't immediately recognizable.

Hermione turned her head and saw a plump, soft black woman in her early thirties standing in front of her. "I couldn't help but overhear - are you the Hermione I'm looking for?"

Hermione tore herself away from her parents as she did a double-take. "Erika?"

The girl smiled, her grin wide. "That's me!"

 _Goddamit,_ Hermione thought to herself, _Where on earth did Severus go, and why am I suddenly in a modern comedy of errors?_

 


	48. back to hogwarts w parents

Hermione couldn't believe the poor fortune she was having today.

"Erika," she said in a low whisper, "now is not a good time." 

Louder she said, "Erika, what a surprise! What are you doing in England?" 

Thankfully Erika was quick to follow along. "Visiting friends," she said, grinning widely. "What a coincidence, you being here! I'm surprised they aren't here yet to pick me up. Could you by any chance give me a ride?" 

"Of course," Hermione said, and gestured to the comfy chairs. "These are my parents, Oliver and Rachel." 

"A pleasure to meet you," said Erika, extending her hand warmly. Hermione recognized, in her words and gesture, Severus' learned pureblood charm, and nearly laughed aloud to see it. Was it possible he had influenced her so much? 

Oliver shook her hand with the same enthusiasm, and Rachel primly reciprocated as well.

"I'm so excited to be home," Erika said, gazing around at the bleak airport as if it were enchanted. "It's been so long." 

"Glad to have you home," Hermione said, "our mutual friend has gone to the bathroom, I assume, and he will be back shortly." 

"So what are you all doing here?" Erika asked. Her casualness was a godsend. Hermione couldn't be more thankful. 

"Well," Hermione explained, "Severus and I were headed to Australia to try and remedy my parents. You surely remember hearing about how we'd been working for years to find a way to bring them back to themselves. But as it happened, my parents came here - and now with our recent experimental charm, they're okay." 

"Wow," Erika said, her large eyes gleaming with humor and recognition. "That's such a coincidence. How amazing! You know what the Jungians say," she went on, and she waggled her fingers in a "jazz hands" motion. "Synchronicity."

"Exactly right," said Oliver, who ate up that wooey shit like Severus could eat a whole turkey, "such a unique coincidence, it seems like it was fated to happen." 

"Yes indeed," echoed Hermione with a sigh. Perhaps all this would work out in the end. "If you believe in fate." 

Neither parent commented on the heavy implication that Hermione, like all sensible people, did not believe in fate. 

"So what next?" asked Erika smoothly before either of the doctors Granger could respond. "How about breakfast?" 

"Splendid," replied Oliver without a second of hesitation. "Severus already had himself a bit of cake, but I suppose the rest of us could've a bite. I'm not quite sure what time it's supposed to be now, but I'm sure it's close to a mealtime somewhere." 

Rachel sighed dramatically and began to walk resignedly towards the dismal morning food court. 

"No, mum," Hermione said, and then stopped. Her first instinct was to say, "let's just go back to the castle," but then she realized that she wasn't sure if she could do that. As far as Hermione knew, Muggles couldn't even see Hogwarts. 

"I'm wondering if you're thinking we should go back to the school," she heard a voice behind her, and a warm hand settled on her shoulder. Severus was back, a little bit calmer at least on the surface. "We should, you know. You have classes to teach." 

"But can we?" Hermione asked, and raised an eyebrow at her parents.

"We aren't stowaways, you know," came Rachel's bitter voice, "We are your parents, Hermione." 

"Let her be," came Oliver's placating voice. "Don't you see this is more complicated than that?"

"This wizarding business has always been too complicated for my taste," responded Rachel with a hint of a snarl. 

Severus' eyes seemed to gleam. "I like your mum," he said beneath his breath, taking Hermione's hand. "Skeptic after my own heart." He seemed to hesitate with Erika, who was smiling at him broadly but with eyes that demonstrated compassion for the complicated situation. It was clear he wanted desperately to take her hand as well, and sweep her up into an embrace, but for the moment he simply extended his hand to her. "A pleasure to see you again, my dear." 

"Same to you, Professor Snape," said Erika, who barely hid a giggle. 

Hermione had never seen Severus blush to be called Professor Snape, but the color rose to his cheeks as Erika grinned at him knowledgeably. He smoothed the front of his shirt, which was a bit on the threadbare side since it was a Muggle piece he hadn't worn in quite a while and needed to extend prior to coming out that morning. For a moment, he seemed to have forgotten Hermione entirely, and was wholly concentrating on his interactions with Erika. Erika grasped his hand again, and shook it meaningfully, clasping it with both her hands. "It really is good to see you, Severus," she said, and patted his shoulder as she turned back to Hermione. 

Hermione, on her part, felt the smallest bit sad. She wondered if she still made Severus blush. When was the last time she had made him so mumbly and bashful? She couldn't remember for the moment, and that saddened her. 

Severus was doing his best to reinvest in his composure, and proceeded to wave the group - which was swiftly reaching ridiculous proportions - out of a fire exit, which he silenced with a wave of his wand. With his authoritative bearing, everyone followed without hesitation. 

Then, once under cover of a fuel refilling barrel, he offered his arm to Hermione, and she took it with a sense of nervousness. He motioned for the others to do the same: Erika (who seemed casually bewildered but game for the ride,) Oliver (whose eyes were widening with excitement at the realization that finally, after so many years, he was going to see his beloved daughter complete magic), and Rachel (who appeared somber and possibly constipated, given the grim line of her lips.) 

Severus seemed to have apologies in his eyes as he met Hermione's gaze. All he said, however, was "Here goes nothing," and they closed their eyes and apparated back to the castle. 

........  
Oliver promptly threw up as soon as they landed at the front gates of Hogwarts.

"I have always thought it very intelligent of the creators of Hogwarts to position the barriers of the anti-apparition wards far from the castle grounds," Severus said smirkingly as he extended a handkerchief magically pulled out of his cuff and offered it to Oliver. 

Oliver, for his part, smiled gratefully, and heaved his guts out another time. 

"He's dreadfully weak stomached," said Rachel, who appeared none the worse for wear. "Unlike some people I could mention." 

Hermione wasn't sure if that was a fat joke at Severus' expense, a compliment, or both, or neither. Rachel didn't do them the favor of elaborating, so Hermione dismissed it. Anything less than overt antagonism would, unfortunately, have to be ignored. Her mother had every right to be bitter and mean.

"Drink this," Severus said, uncorking a stopper from a bottle he'd brought for Erika's benefit and giving it to Oliver, "and you will feel better." 

Oliver took one whiff and wrinkled his nose, but downed the potion and took a few deep breaths. "That's amazing," he said as he stood straight again. "What is that?" 

"It's a patented brew," Severus said, "I can't divulge the contents to anyone who doesn't have the license, unfortunately." 

"Oh, that's all right," Oliver said, a little dazedly. He had caught sight of Hogwarts, and a huge grin emerged on his face. "That's the school, there?" he asked, a hand pointing at the school. 

Everyone looked where he was pointing. Hogwarts was looking particularly lovely at this time of the morning, with the sun getting closer to the middle of the sky. Even Rachel had to be impressed. 

"Yes," Hermione said proudly, "it is." 

Severus nodded, then steeled himself for the walk back by taking a few deep breaths. "Come along," he said, and offered his arm to Rachel Granger, who refused it but appeared somewhat flattered. Hermione was relieved to see her having to hide a smile. That was much more what she had been hoping for from her mother upon their reunion. With that look, she knew that things would be all right. Even though it had been challenging, it was going to be all right.

.......


	49. there were 3 in the bed

The rest of the morning was occupied by trying to help Hermione's parents get settled in. Hermione finally got them disposed of in a spare guest bedroom, courtesy of a bemused McGonagall. They were severely jetlagged and were pleased to sleep through Hermione's classes, once they'd gotten their fill at the Hogwarts breakfast tables. 

Finally, Hermione, Erika, and Severus were alone in Hermione's rooms as Hermione began to scramble together the materials for her classes. 

Erika and Severus were sitting on Hermione's book-crowded couch, and Severus was awkwardly holding Erika's hand. At the same time, he seemed unsure whether to enjoy her eye contact or not. 

"So you'll be running your classes from now through dinnertime," Erika was saying to Hermione. The other woman's eyes were running over Hermione's sitting room, an Hermione was mostly sure that Erika was just getting accustomed to her new environment - but there was a little something in her brain that seemed to suggest otherwise. As if Erika were appraising Hermione's apartment and deciding Hermione weren't good enough for Severus. 

*It's not as if a lot of other people will date him, given what a fat arse he is,* Hermione thought, then hushed the thought immediately with shame. She didn't believe that. She felt like Severus' occasional charm and intelligence, not to mention hero status, would have earned him hundreds of the country's most desirable dates at the drop of a hat if he wanted them, no matter what he looked like. Still, she wondered where this thought came from. Was it a response to her feelings of jealousy, which were muted but still persistent a Erika sat on the sofa with Severus. 

"It's nice to know that Severus' taste is consistent," Erika said, as if reading Hermione's mind. "He seems to have a thing for the most wickedly smart girls." 

"Thanks?" Hermione said, taking a deep breath. She was finding herself coursing with anxiety and adrenaline, a delayed reaction to the situation where her parents arrived. At the turn of a pin, she felt almost like crying. 

Severus turned his head and smiled at Hermione thinly, his lips pressed together in close tight formation. Then he saw that her eyes were starting to well up, and he stood abruptly. "What's wrong?" he asked, drawing her into a close embrace with him. 

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his soft pillowlike breasts. "I don't think I can run classes today," she confessed as she pressed herself deeper into his softness. "This all... is too much." 

"That's fine," Severus said gently. "I've never seen you cancel a class. Trust me, some professors are cavalier about it. I encourage you to take care of yourself." He clasped Hermione more tightly in response to her broken sob emerging from her throat. One of his large hands rubbed up and down her shoulders. "Shh," he murmured, and his low voice was strangely soothing. "Should I cancel your classes for you?" 

"Yes please," Hermione murmured, and took a few steadying breaths. "I'm sorry Erika," she added, "this is a wonderful first impression of me. My apologies." 

"Far from it," Erika said, a good-natured tone to her voice. "This certainly isn't my first impression of you. I've been hearing about how thrilled Severus has been with you for months. You've already won me over, Hemione." 

Hermione hadn't thought of it that way. Granted, in some ways she felt the same, because Severus did keep Hermione apprised on his conversations and such regarding Erika. But it wasn't precisely the same, because she still didn't feel completely comfortable with the whole metamour situation. 

"Thank you," Hermione said, breathing in and out. Severus then waved his hand, and sent all the books from the couch onto the floor, and then he sat his nice wide arse in the center of the couch, close against Erika. He proceeded to, almost shyly, pat the seat next to him. 

Hermione proceeded to sit down, feeling her body stiffen. This was so strange. 

Then Severus extended one hesitant arm to surround Erika, who leaned against him with perfect comfort. Then, with a soft tug, he brought Hermione down to a symmetrically similar position on the other side. She slipped down a little more, however, as she untucked herself from under his arm and lay down, flattening the back of her head against his thick thigh. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, feeling her hot breath come back to her as she breathed against Severus' hot stomach flesh. Hermione closed her eyes and felt Severus rubbing his hand through her long curly hair. 

"I can't believe this," he murmured, once his hand was firmly stuck in Hermione's curls, "I have two beautiful women who want to be with me." 

"Yep," answered Erika simply, and Hermione felt Severus' torso turn slightly. Then, she heard the slightest wet sucking sounds of a kiss, and her eyes flew open. She looked up at Severus and Erika, tentatively re-exploring each other with their tongues and lips. Hermione watched with fascination as Severus' double chins wobbled, and she appreciated the way the bit of pudge in Erika's plump neck also wiggled as they moved. Hermione idly slipped one hand underneath the warm flap of Severus' expansive belly, and she relaxed into the heat of his skin. Her eyes closed, and she listened to Severus and Erika kiss some more. Erika sounded like a good kisser; she was both an initiator and a receiver, and seemed to coax Severus into being more active and passionate with every gentle smack of her lips. 

Hermione could not help but feel the slightest bit envious. Watching and listening to someone kiss Severus made her want to kiss and appreciate him as well. 

She opened her eyes widely and watched with rapt attention as the others made their ballet duet a reality. Then, as they seemed inclined to stop, Severus opened his eyes and looked down into Hermione's eyes. 

"Come," he rumbled thickly, pressing her shoulder and urging her to rise. Hermione did so belaboredly, and she sighed once she got herself into a sitting position. 

As soon as she was accessible to him, he pressed his lips into her own. And Hermione felt immediately a mix of desire and pain. She could taste Erika's kiss on his lips - a light and lovely cocoa butter flavor, unless she was imagining it. 

Her mind began to spin, and she laid a final kiss on Severus' soft cheek and stood, feeling a bit dizzy. 

"I... I don't know if I can do this?" she asked, grasping Severus' shoulder with one hand and pressing her other hand against her face. "This... today was just too much." 

"I understand," Erika said, and she glanced between the two magic people with some curiosity, as if expecting sparks or something. "I... I could leave you two be, awhile." 

"No, no," Hermione said, shaking her head. She wasn't sure what she wanted. She felt weighed down by the events of the day, and desperately wished she could wake up again and go through the whole day over more slowly. "I just want to take a bit of a lay-down, if that's all right." 

"Would you like company?" asked Erika, who was feverishly processing the situation. Hermione watched as Severus, in his confusion and distress, glanced a few times between the two women, before finally settling on Hermione with a look of concern. 

"I..." 

The honest answer was yes, but Hermione was not about to tell someone who was reuniting with his overseas girlfriend for the first time in years that he should abandon said girlfriend at the drop of a hat. 

Erika then slapped Severus on the shoulder good-naturedly. "All right, I'll go ahead and take a nap in Severus' room, then," she said carefully, "if that's all right." 

"No," Hermione said, and all of a sudden she felt even worse at the idea of banishing a woman who had come all this way to spend time with her partner. "No, you don't have to go." 

"Okay," Severus said, and he seemed frustrated by the situation. He took a deep breath. "Do you want me to come and hold you while you fall asleep?" 

"That'd be nice," Hermione said, "but I don't want you to have to leave Erika." 

Severus groaned aloud. "I can't be in two places at once," he responded with a hint of a growl. "It's not as though we can all go to bed together." 

The two women looked at each other. It sounded simple but it actually was a solution. 

"Actually... would... that work for you, Hermione?" broached Erika. "...Sev in the middle?" 

Hermione closed her eyes and tried not to smile at Erika calling him Sev. Somehow the levity lended itself to the situation and made her feel like it was worth a try. "Let's give it a shot," she said, feeling overwhelmed with gratitude for someone with greater social competence. 

Severus' eyes went wide, but he ended up smiling hesitantly, and turned his head down so his hair fell in front of his face. "If it isn't sustainable, we'll consider other options." 

What on earth was this? Hermione couldn't get her head around it, even though she took some deep breaths, and she walked fatiguedly to the bedroom, where she crawled under the bedcovers, barely kicking off her shoes. 

Severus and Erika followed her, and silently, they joined her on the bed. The two of them lay on top of the coverlet, while she snuggled beneath it, but Severus accio'ed a fluffy throw blanket from a chair and draped it across their laps. Then he proceeded to snuggle as close to Hermione as possible, and his hand rested gently in the space between her neck and ear, his fingers gently lapping at her earlobe. 

Erika, for her part, snuggled into the crook of his arm, saying "I brought my Kindle." 

Hermione murmured a wordless sound and buried her head in the pillow. Then, feeling a desperate need for contact, she turned over and pressed her face into Severus' large soft tum instead. He responded by weaving his fingers into her hair kindly, moving in long, languid strokes. 

She fell asleep there, to the tune of two persons' breathing - Severus and Erika. 

It was somewhat unnerving, but strangely soothing.


	50. seule moi

Hermione awoke again feeling like she had a mouth full of wool. Also she felt far too hot. She ripped herself away from the warm spot that she had been occupying and she turned and stared out the window. The sun was lower in the sky than she remembered, and she had a brief moment of panic as she worried whether she'd missed her classes. Then she remembered that she had cancelled them, and she took a deep stabilizing breath. 

There was no light on in the room, though the sun setting in the west was casting a golden glow over everything in the bedroom. 

Then she felt something soft stir next to her, and her head rose from the warm nest of blankets that draped around her. Everything was so soft and gentle to the touch. Most of the time she didn't have the brain space to notice these things, but she luxuriated in it now. 

Crookshanks poked his grizzled head from between the sheets and mewed at her plaintively. 

"I'm sorry, lovely," she said, stifling a yawn. She was sad to see that Severus and Erika were not there. It wasn't as if she was fair to expect their undivided attention, of course, when she was sleeping... but it would have been so much better to wake up next to them. 

She heaved herself out of bed reluctantly, petted Crookshanks dutifully, and plodded into the kitchenette. She was desperately hungry, and she looked around for signs that Erika or Severus had left something to eat. 

It came as a relief to see that Erika had got a box of duty-free chocolates at the airport, and only about a third of them were gone. Hermione happily consumed the rest of the large box as she went to draw herself a bath. 

The water was hot, and she relaxed into it, letting her aching body review what it felt like to decompress. She had not given herself a break in so long. 

She closed her eyes against the steaming water, and let the coziness of the situation overcome her. She felt like all was well in the world, despite her frustrations of earlier. Well, mostly in spite of them. She refused to let herself think about the situations with her parents and with Erika. It was too much for the moment. 

She hear a scratching at the door, and she waved it open with wandless magic - she'd been practicing and trying to build up her skills in this area - and was sadly disappointed to see Crookshanks. 

Where was her boyfriend, and why was she sitting in the bath alone? 

She eventually got herself out of the bath, drew a robe around her laxly, and padded back to her couch. It still bore the vague imprint of three arses - one enormous, one fairly substantial, and one quite a lot smaller. With a sigh, she made herself comfortable there, and summoned the remainder of the chocolates she hadn't hastily downed. 

She'd slept a long time, and now she felt completely disoriented. 

However, there was no time like the present for a bit of dinner, even though it was merely five, so she clapped her hands and ordered from the houself that showed itself there. 

She found herself absently ordering a modest amount - more curtailed than most of her meals of late. Some sausages, some potatoes, some fried leeks, some peas in butter. And as these all showed themselves in front of her, she found her mouth watering for more. 

The potatoes were whipped with cream and butter, flavored with a hint of chive and paprika, and Hermione found herself quaffing the lot of them. The peas were interspersed with celery and carrot, and had a hint of onion flavor as well. The leeks were greasy and hot, and were luscious to tear into, with their strong scent and unusual texture. Then, last, was the taste of the sausages. The sausages given her were chicken with apple and sun-dried tomato, and were exceptionally cooked, plump and hot and when speared they made the slightest sound of deflating, as if it were a subtle balloon. The sausages cut perfectly as Hermione sliced them and brought them to her mouth, and she relished the hearty taste. 

All too soon, she was left without any more food in front of her, and she lazily contemplated whether or not she wanted to proceed further in gorging herself. 

And as it happened, given her recent gluttonous habits, the result was that she decided yes, she did deserve to eat some more. She did miss lunch that day, after all. Not to mention breakfast. 

And so, soon enough, she found herself facing a large bowl of pasta, nearly the size of her arse. It was covered in the sweetest and most delicious Alfredo white sauce, with pine nuts and savory tomato, drizzled with a flavor of pepper and Gorgonzola to make it more dimensional in its flavors, but Hermione could do nothing more than inhale the whole ruddy thing. The food was so thick, and yet so bold, and she ached with every part of her being as she swallowed it all, hungrily. 

Then, too soon, she began to feel the telltale pressure on the inside of her belly which alerted her that yes, she was indeed getting far too full. She slurped down the remaining noodles before her tum could protest, and then with a sense of victory, she toddled over to her bed and collapsed upon it, belly up. 

She closed her eyes and luxuriated in the sense of completion and satisfaction that warmed her, and her fingers began to knead the soft folds of her belly with her fingers. She felt curious and relaxed, and exploratory, and she relished the lack of urgency. Her warm robe fell open, merely framing her instead of covering her, and it felt soft and cozy beneath her splendidly wide arse. 

It was so nice to just *feel* herself in the quiet of her bedroom, alone. The silence seemed to reverberate around her, encompassing her and making her feel acutely aware of everything. There was no sound but the faintest insinuation of the wind outside the windowpanes, and Hermione's own deep breathing. All she could feel and see was in her immediate vicinity. It was gloriously quiet. 

She took a deep breath, and fell into a dreamlike reverie. The warmth of her stuffed tum, the smoothness of her soft skin, the way her pudgy fingers played along the sides of her distended, growing belly... it all served to seduce her, make her hunger for something more compelling than even food. 

With her fingers aching to exert their power over something more substantial than her mere skin, she found them wandering across the hills and valleys of her tum until they reached the pubic area, where they entered the dense forest she grew there. Her fingers then twisted among her hairs, testing their strength and wending their way through the tendrils, pulling here and stroking there. 

It wasn't a stretch of the imagination to extend their attention to her wetter parts. Soon her fingers submerged themselves into the sweet slick place within her labia majora. It was a pleasurable experience, and it definitely felt naughty. 

Hermione had done her fair share of masturbation in her life, but she often found herself avoiding it when she was in a relationship. Since being with Severus, she'd rarely had occasion for pleasuring herself. But this particular moment, she couldn't help herself. And that's really what made it feel even more forbidden, salacious, and delightfully dirty. 

She had made herself horny simply by the simple act of eating. Horny to the point where she couldn't even wait until her boyfriend came back to please herself. And she couldn't even bring herself to feel guilty about it. 

No, her fingers, while out of practice, were quick on the uptake, and soon began to commence stroking that particular area that Hermione found so pleasing and ravishing. She felt spasms of pleasure catch her bated breath, and she spread her legs wider as if to accommodate someone there. 

And, despite herself, she began to imagine Erika licking her. Frenziedly, enthusiastically, licking Hermione's pussy clean. 

She was completely unaware of what it was she was imagining until she was already well caught up in her fantasy. As she began to realize what was happening, she tried to shut it down. But as she closed her eyes and tried to close her mind to the fantasy, she found it only made it worse. 

Erika - a woman she'd known for all of ten minutes, essentially - was a completely verboten person to objectify. She wasn't even nearly as round and plump as Hermione generally liked, which made it all the more interesting. 

Hermione had a brief illumination as she orgasmed for the first time - this was probably something to do with jealousy, she rationalized - but it was nonetheless noteworthy. She found there was some tears underneath that orgasm - some pent-up emotion she had been waiting to expend, somehow. 

It took her a few minutes of crying into her pillow to start feeling all right again. She realized she really needed the stimulation tonight, for whatever reason.

Then, she took several deep breaths, and began to start up her engine again. She closed her eyes, and continued to rub one out, and her fingers were thick and slick with her own juices. 

But as she orgasmed a second time, a bit more vocally than the first time, she heard the front door of her apartment close, and heavy footsteps in the hall. 

"Hermione?" came Severus' voice, and with a few unhesitating steps he came to the open bedroom door. His eyes were wide to see Hermione spread across the bed as she was, and he simply raised an eyebrow and smirked. 

"Is she alright?" came a feminine voice from behind Severus' bulk, and Severus quickly turned around and deftly hid Erika's eyes in his voluminous chest.

"I think that Hermione's quite all right," said Severus with a grin, trying to maneuver Erika out of eyeshot. "Let's give her some privacy, shall we?" 

"Erm," Erika said, not picking up on the hint. She tore herself away from Severus' grasp, and turned her head to see Hermione haphazardly covering herself with her robe. "Oh. Erm. Sorry," she apologized, realizing she'd committed a faux pas, "We thought you were still asleep. He's only been to check on you like twelve times all day." 

"Erika!" Severus moaned, proceeding to gently shove his girlfriend out of Hermione's room, "The door." 

"Of course," Erika said with an eyeroll. "Sorry again to interrupt you. Take your time and finish." 

Hermione reddened - was her activity so obvious that a relative stranger could see what she was doing? - and most determinedly did *not* finish, because that was impolite to do when company was afoot. 

Still, as she shoved on a dress and robes and thrust her feet into some house slippers, she was curious what sort of things were in Erika's mind as she'd left the room. And whether or not Erika had any interest in playing with Hermione, the way Hermione was interested in playing with her.


	51. hermione's mom issues

"I couldn't help but notice," Erika went on as Severus frowned into his mug of tea, "that you've got very lovely skin on your upper thighs, Hermione." 

Erika seemed bound and determined to make this experience as awkward as possible, Hermione felt. She felt frumpy and somehow old as she sat in front of the fire, feet against the grate, unwinding her latest knitting disaster. Erika was sharing biscuits between the two magical people, and Hermione was eating them as fast as Erika could get them out of the package. 

"It almost makes me wonder," Erika went on, joyfully saucy, her eyes glinting with intrigue, "what it'd taste like?"

"That's enough," said Severus, and he was blushing furiously red. He seemed to be quite the fish out of water, and was unable to get a hold of the situation. It must have been so uncomfortable for him, that suave manager of human dynamics, forced to crumble beneath the whims of two women flirting with each other. 

Wait. Hermione's brain nearly popped out of her skull. Did she really tell herself that she was *flirting* with Erika? 

But there it was, that was the truth. And the truth was exhilarating. 

Hermione tried her best to keep a straight face as she tried to think of an appropriate... nay, inappropriate response. 

"It takes one to know one, I suppose," Hermione said, trying to keep her tone carefully neutral. 

But Erika knew better, and her eyes were dancing. She pushed some more biscuits towards Hermione's waiting hand. "Severus," Erika crooned, sitting back and smiling at their mutual boyfriend, "I can't believe you didn't tell me what a sex dumpling you had." 

"Well." Severus didn't seem to have a cogent response at the tip of his tongue, for once in his life, and Hermione scooped him. 

"The feeling is mutual," said Hermione, pleased to have effectively thrown the ball back to Erika for a repartee. 

Erika simply grinned in response. They didn't have to overdo it. 

Frankly, there were a lot of things happening in this situation. First, attraction. Hermione was instinctively attracted to Erika in a very carnal way. Second, convenience. Erika was convenient, she was here, and moreover she was already fucking Severus. (Hermione had slyly confirmed by a whispery glance at Severus' trousers, which were distinctly rumpled in such a way as suggested he'd had them off in the recent past.) Third, availability. Hermione knew without a doubt that Erika was available. Not only was she already fucking Hermione's boyfriend, she was polyamorous. And Hermione was interested in seeing what exactly that meant. 

It is important for the sake of this story that we clarify the following: Hermione, at this stage of her life, had never fulfilled a sexual relationship with a girl. She'd been too timid to respond positively to Ginny Weasley's fey experimentations during the TriWizard cup, and ever since, well, Hermione had endured several feminine crushes, but not actively pursued any of them beyond trying to suggest good books for them to read. (Usually this was not well reciprocated and only further bolstered her appearance of being a swotty bookworm, and not in a good way.) 

Hermione had, at this point, only made it past the stage of her attraction to women where she had figured out that flirting was something she could do with women, and should do with women if she intended to pursue any, ever. She had not, however, figured out the logistics of such things - including how to get a woman in her bed. Indeed, for reasons mostly relating to convenience, Hermione ended up with men a good deal of the time. Men were simply easier to come by, and more likely to demonstrate interest in her. 

So for Hermione to be on the receiving end of flirting with a woman was particularly exciting and new. 

Unfortunately for Hermione, she was a bit prone to assuming that polyamorous was the same as unbridled slut (and I use that word in a reclaiming, victorious, empowering fashion). Which assumption has some bearing on this chapter. 

In any case, Hermione was interested, Erika seemed interested, and all was right in the world. 

I wish I could say that they simply all tumbled into bed together after this - Erika to lick Hermione's soft thigh skin, and vice versa, and Severus to put his head between their two cunts and pleasure them until they moaned in unison - but unfortunately for us (at least for the moment), Hermione's parents still were in the picture. And they certainly were not interested in partaking in, or witnessing, such activities. (This was something that Hermione was 99% sure about.) 

In any case. Hermione sat there in front of the fire, rolling her tongue over biscuits that she chewed slowly whilst relishing, and teasing apart the latest horror of mess that had emerged from her knitting basket. Erika sat, cross-legged, on the rug, with a book in her hand that she was only half-reading. And Severus sat on the couch, his laptop hovering in front of him, a hand resting on his ponderous belly while he read from online journal articles. 

This was how Rachel and Oliver found them all when they came to visit for dinner.

"How are you after your sleep?" asked Hermione of both her parents, whose jetlagged selves had been put to bed as well since their arrival. 

"Ah, much better, splendid," said Oliver, sitting down next to Severus on the couch immediately. "I'm glad to have had a bit of shut-eye. Rachel, dear, how are you feeling?" 

"Have been better," Rachel said. She looked even more intense than earlier, with a deeply furrowed brow and narrowed eyes. "Didn't sleep much." 

"It's hard getting acclimated to this soggy old island again," Oliver said smoothly, trying to make up for his wife's brusqueness. 

This interaction set the tone for much of the evening. Oliver was placating, doddering, and sometimes even beseeching. Rachel seemed to become harder and more cold with every passing minute. 

It finally escalated to the point where Rachel seemed inclined to bite the heads off everyone who approached her for anything, and Oliver seemed profoundly troubled by his wife's agitated behavior. 

"So I hope you'll be coming with us tomorrow," Rachel said, "back to the old house." 

Hermione looked startled. "Erm. The old house. It actually was sold some time ago. I couldn't do anything; the bank repossessed it since I couldn't pay the mortgage." 

"You shipped us off to Australia," Rachel said, her eyes burning, "and you couldn't be bothered to pay the mortgage?" 

Of course, at the time that this had all happened, Hermione had been scared out of her wits and in constant peril, living in hiding in the forest of Dean. But Hermione didn't know how she could explain that to her parents. 

Instead of responding, she just stared into her plate. It was looking a bit empty, so she compulsively reached for a serving spoon to get some more rice. 

"I knew it," Rachel said with a sense of finality, "I knew it. How... classically irresponsible of you, Hermione. You ship us off to Australia and you don't even bother keeping the home that your father and I worked to own for so many years." 

"I mean," Hermione said, squirming, "you still have plenty of money, right? Trust me, mum, if there was a way where I could save the house, I would have, but-" 

"-And all for what?" Rachel interrupted fiercely, standing up. "For the sake of living in a magic castle?"

Hermione was stunned. Is that all her mother had been able to process in the past twelve hours? She'd told them about the war, about fighting for justice, about how she'd been on the front lines helping her friend win a major war, about how they'd nearly starved to death in the woods and she was tortured by evil Death Eaters as a prisoner of war... and her mother thought she cared about a ruddy castle?

"Well, Hermione, we have seen your magic castle," Rachel said, her head sitting proudly upon her shoulders. "You have introduced us to your professors, and to your boyfriend - in the same stroke, which was genius." Rachel had a bit of a smirk in her voice, though her face betrayed no such emotion. "And now when we ask you, what do we do now, you tell us we can do anything we want - because no matter what, you are going to let us wend out own ways to our graves, and how we get there doesn't matter to you."

Hermione's eyes were wide. She had never, ever seen this much anger in her mother before. And she had no idea what to say. She cast a worried glance at Severus, who appeared thoughtful. She also looked at Erika, who merely looked worried. 

Rachel went on, "You get what you deserve, Hermione. And what you deserve is to be alone until you eat yourself to death."

Hermione had no idea what to say to all this, but Severus had heard enough, and he was quick to throw a stupefy at Rachel. This meant that Hermione's mum was paralyzed, unable to speak or move.

Severus approached her carefully even so, as if expecting her to snap out of her binding. He cast a wand over her mother's skull, and gently cast an illuminating spell. Rachel's brain became visible, lit up in different colors like in a biology textbook.

"Erika," called Severus, staring closely at the visual. He gestured at one particular section and colored it brighter with his wand. "This is the area related to paranoid ideation, am I correct?"

"Of course," Erika responded, looking over Severus' thick meaty shoulder. "And it's bright as all get out."

"Yes," Severus said with a wince. "I'm going to attempt to repeat the procedure we worked on together to isolate the items in her brain."

He proceeded to whisk around different aspects of Rachel's brain like he was unwrapping a very complicated present, with layer upon layer of paper. He puzzled over it for several minutes until he identified what he seemed to be looking for.

"Ah," he said calmly, "see this?"

He gestured in a haphazard motion. Both women stepped forward, realizing as they did so that they both knew Severus' tics and how to respond to them. Erika looked into Hermione's eyes and grinned delightedly. Erika's large brown eyes were wide and intelligent, and her lips pulled apart so invitingly. Hermione found herself relaxing into a brief fantasy about flirting with them.

That is, until Severus pulled her physically over to look inside her mother's brain.

"This is the area that is activated when your mother thinks of her husband," Severus said, pointing to a large mass of neural connections colored in hues of red, pink, and purple. "And this is the area that is activated when your mother thinks of you." He gestured at an even larger set of neural networks that were those same colors in the center of the most dense areas, but were mostly glowing a dull, swampy green. It looked like a moldy hamburger that needed some more time on the grill. "There is a difference, I'm sure you see."

Hermione nodded, and a lump of dread began to grow in her throat. "She hates me," she said, feeling small and vulnerable as it began to dawn on her what kind of permanent damage had been done.

"It's a perfectly logical biological mechanism," Severus said, not skipping a beat. "I've seen this before in other long term memory modified persons. Do you understand how a memory charm works from a biological standpoint? It's fascinating.

"Memory storage is nearly infinite, though a good amount of what we think of as memory is only a fraction of the actual memory content we contain. Muscle memory is one of those key areas that is rarely addressed in school, and that's by design - it's far more dangerous to mess with that, since it relates to the autonomic functions like breathing. But I digress.

"Memory is essentially infinite. A memory charm does not destroy the memories targeted - it merely shuts down the areas of the brain where these memories are stored. Eglantine Spengler is one of the few academic witches who bothers to toy around with muggle technology, and she identified that when certain shut down areas of the brain are stimulated, those memories are shown to be present, just suppressed.

"However, just as with Alzheimer's patients, the longer areas of the brain are suppressed, the more likely it is that they will never be activated again. The memories trapped there grow harder and harder to access, until they become nearly completely untraceable. This is why memory charms have the illusion of wiping someone's memory completely, even though this simply is a misnomer.

"Shutting down tiny areas of the brain on sporadic occasions rarely has an effect. However, there can be cumulative damage compiled when there is a sufficient quotient of repeated exposure, exposure dosages, and exposure duration."

"It's like radiation," Erika explained concisely. Hermione just nodded, mutely. She looked at her father, who had pressed his face against his hands and was staring sadly at his wife as she remained frozen and incapacitated. 

"On top of that," Severus went on, "The person whose magic was used to alter the person's mind damages the very chemical makeup of the brain. A small dose of memory modification won't hurt you, and is relatively simple to heal. However, a more serious alteration will leave more drastic damage. This damage will usually result in one of two diametric symptoms: pathy or antipathy, depending on the way the neurochemicals of the invader's brain correspond with the neurochemicals of the invaded person's brain. Compounded with the amount of time, this damage can spread like rot. In this case, your mother's toxic brain is poisoning areas unrelated to the point of entry that you used, which was her memory center related to you. It's slowly spreading. One of the ways that it's already changed her brain is that it's mutated some of the matter of her brain, converting it to something that is at least genetically very similar to paranoia. A portion of the damaged matter is surrounding the point of entry, as I already described." 

"So what does that all mean?" asked Oliver, sounding pathetic and sad. 

"It means that Rachel has sustained some serious and likely irreversible damage to certain parts of her brain containing associations with Hermione," Severus said, and he appeared somewhat apologetic and less clinical as he met her eyes. 

"Irreversible?" Hermione asked, and she began to realize that she could see where Severus was heading with this line of reasoning. "What does that mean, exactly?" 

"There's only one way to stave off a complete psychotic takeover of her brain," Severus said, "and that's to contain the rotted area and seal it up again, make it inaccessible to her so that it stops the spread. It's almost cancerous in how it proceeds, so it needs to be done swiftly." 

"Then go ahead," Oliver said, standing up and approaching his wife. He reached out and touched her hand, and seemed surprised that it was warm. "She isn't herself." 

"What does that mean, though?" Hermione asked. "Will she see me as a stranger again?" 

"I'm not an expert on this," Severus said, but his face read clearly that he knew something terrible that he wasn't willing to share, "so we'd best take her to St. Mungo's for help." 

Hermione nodded glumly. She felt a certain warmth near her hand, and she saw that Erika was offering her hand to hold. Hermione took it, not sure how to respond otherwise.


	52. confessions and cuddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: depressive ideation

Hermione ended that day in bed with Erika. Not in the way you might be expecting, and not in the way I have been hoping. But it was the right way, for the moment, and that was all there was to it.

Hermione, Severus, and Erika returned from St. Mungo's with Oliver in tow. It was very late at night at this point, and they returned via the floo to Hermione's sitting room. Severus was deeply withdrawn into himself, barely saying a word to anyone, collapsing into the sofa and tucking his head down and gazing in front of him through the greasy strands of his hair.

Erika seemed unable to decide what to say, and instead kept asking each person in the group if they were all right, to the point where it was nearly annoying. She looked a bit on edge, and disinclined to relax.

Oliver seemed excessively weary, and Hermione began to realize how old he seemed. There was a stiffness to his walk that she couldn't remember, and a slowness of his processing speed that belied some additional damage to his own brain from the severe and long-lasting memory charms.

"I hope she'll be all right there, alone," Oliver said, looking sad. He dabbed his eyes on his shirt-sleeve for the fifth time and Severus, with some annoyance, drew a handkerchief out of his sleeve and nearly threw it at the older man. Erika intercepted it and gently offered it to Oliver. Then, as he accepted it tearfully, he caught Hermione's eye. And the poorly-affected strength he'd adopted crumbled completely in an instant, and soon he was grasping Hermione tightly, sobbing on her shoulder as she rubbed his back.

She'd never had to comfort her father before. He was truly crying like a little child. What had happened to them? Hermione could scarcely guess.

The weight of guilt had been settling upon her even more and more heavily throughout the evening as the troupe had gone to St. Mungo's and checked Rachel into the Ward for Unfortunate Muggles. She'd been given calming potions and sedated, though that didn't stop her suspicious scowl towards Hermione whenever Hermione entered the room.

Indeed, Hermione was deeply afraid that her mother was irrevocably changed. How could her mother reject her so forcefully, and so mindlessly? It was so irrational. And all the things she'd said - trust me, dear readers, you don't want to have read everything the woman said to Hermione, nor do I wish to write them - they stuck in a place deep inside Hermione's heart.

Now, instead of thinking of her parents as benevolently meddlesome and pushy, but enthusiastically supportive of her success... now she was having to sort out the idea that her parents were perhaps not as good of people as she thought they were. Or, at least, this was true of her mother. Her father, poor soul... she had no idea what to think of what was happening to him.

No, Hermione was now thinking about Neville, and his parents, and their mental states. They were affected by memory spells - deeply malevolent ones, among other tortures - and now were permanently in St. Mungo's due to their inability to care for themselves. She didn't think the same fate would come to her parents... but what if it did?

Hermione had things to talk about with Neville, that was for sure.

So Hermione was hugging her father, and with every sob her own heart broke over and over again. The reason he was like this was because of *her* and the fact that she'd tried to do too much with too few skills and resources.

Yes, Hermione reasoned with herself, that was probably why she hadn't fetched her parents from Australia a lot sooner. She must have had an inkling that once she did, she'd have to face the facts that she'd taken on too much, and made costly errors as a result.

Errors that might have, in fact, cost her at least one of her parents.

.........

Soon, Oliver fell asleep on the couch. He clearly didn't want to be left alone, and Hermione transformed said couch slightly wider and had the house elves bring fresh linens for him, so it was quite comfortable. She asked Minty to keep an eye on him during the night, lest he need her kindness. Minty agreed that she might be of service to him, and that was that.

She quietly retreated to the bedroom with Erika and Severus once Oliver had closed his eyes.

"Are we going to say anything to your father?" hissed Severus as he quietly closed the door.

Hermione just numbly shook her head. She felt such despair over the situation - why did it have to be this way? And why did it have to be *her* fault?

Hermione was no stranger to feeling guilt, but this experience was simply the worst she had ever endured.

Severus seemed to see her blank response, and he rolled his lips more tightly and looked pleadingly at Erika, seeking a cue.

"You don't seem all right," Erika said, finally confident enough to decide that Hermione needed her own emotions to be translated to her. "Lay down."

Not needing to be told twice, Hermione lay on the bed, and closed her eyes. She felt like she needed to sleep for at least twelve hours.

"Do you mind if I lay next to you?" Erika asked, and Hermione just made a noise in the negative, keeping her eyes closed.

She felt the brush of satin as the other woman got in the bed with her, and soon she felt a tentative warm hand approaching hers.

"Do you mind if I hold your hand?" Erika asked, and Hermione indicated this would be all right. Soon one of Erika's hot, soft hands were wrapped around her own, and she felt Erika's other hand floating over her shoulder.

"Would you like a hug?" Erika asked, and Hermione just nodded yes.

Then Erika wrapped herself around Hermione. The other girl was deceptively soft and squishy in ways that Hermione relished; while she really was more pudgy than fat, Erika was a pleasure to be embraced by.

The warm and coconut scent of Erika made Hermione want to relax into her own sobbing.

"Do you mind if I tell you something?" Hermione asked, and Erika grunted in the affirmative.

"Even if it's really bad?"

Again, Erika affirmed in the positive.

Hermione began to cry at this, and she began to choke as she tried to suppress her own sobs.

She noticed vaguely that the bed creaked near her foot, and she felt Severus ease himself down at the end of the bed and stretch out. She couldn't get a read on him right now, and she didn't care.

"What is it?" Erika prompted, and Hermione buried her face in Erika's shoulder.

"I'm feeling so deeply guilty about this," Hermione confessed. "My parents... they've changed. And as we know, on a biological level. They literally aren't the same anymore, because of me. And I think I just... left them there... even though I knew that I had overextended myself when I did all those memory modification charms and even though I knew I'd put them in great danger."

"Shh," Erika said, and Hermione felt Erika rocking slightly, back and forth. "It's called cognitive dissonance, or post-hoc rationalization, or whatever. And it's all right. If you were a computer then I'd be concerned, but this is a foible unique to human beings. I've done the same sort of thing a lot."

"But ever of this scope?" Hermione asked dramatically, feeling a fresh wave of tears emerge.

"...perhaps not," Erika said, wisely not trying to engage Hermione in some convoluted and irrelevant story, "but Severus has."

"Thanks, Erika," drawled Severus, and it became clear to Hermione that he was raptly attending to every word. She opened her eyes and looked down the bed, and she saw him laying across the bed, looking immensely casual as he propped up his head on his folded elbow. His belly jutted forward with a sense of careless pride, and at any other moment she'd want to eat him up - particularly given the intense way he was staring at her.

But at the moment, Hermione could no more think of sex than commit it, and she drew Erika in a tighter embrace. "I guess so," Hermione acknowledged, and she felt Severus readjust himself and touch her foot. Her foot was covered in blankets, but he grasped it firmly, and began to massage it through the quilt. It was quite comforting and cozy.

Hermione drew a few deep breaths. "But I don't know what to do now," she said, and as she voiced this fear, her sobs bubbled up again, and she began to cry outright. "My dad cried today. I've never seen him cry before. What do I do now? And my mother might never speak to me again because she's suffering delusions that I'm a monster. What can I do?"

"Nothing," Severus said, and pressed his lips against the top of Hermione's foot to kiss her. "And that's the tough bit. We have to wait for the evals to be done tomorrow by the specialist, and until then, we merely wait."

"But what if I *am* a monster?" Hermione asked, and she began to sob incoherently in Erika's shoulder.

Severus heaved himself up - Hermione felt the bed creak underneath him - and moved himself up to cuddle Hermione on the other side. "This talk I will not tolerate," he said firmly. "Hermione, not only are you the most intelligent and most hard-working witch of your generation, you've made an impact on the world incomparable to anyone else I've ever met. And your humility and good humor are still intact, which is more than I can say for lesser wizards."

He pronounced this last word with significant distaste, and Hermione could read between the lines that he meant Harry and Ron, but was holding himself back, for her.

She felt his breath against her neck, and his arm drape below the curve of her luscious tum, and she felt the way his soft, sumptuous body melded against her like a warm soft lump of clay against a mold.

She responded by holding Erika closer, and as she moved slightly away from him, he tightened his own grasp on her, following her across the few inches of the bed until he was just as firmly holding her.

Hermione didn't say several of the things that she was feeling that night - that she wasn't worth it, that she was a terrible person for doing what she had done to her parents and being so cavalier about it, that she was so burdened with guilt that she was physically pained - but somehow Severus and Erika persevered and clasped Hermione until she drifted off into an uncomfortable and unhappy sleep.

............

 

 

 

 

 


	53. menage a trois

Predictably, after so much extra sleep during the rest of the day, Hermione found herself awoken at two in the morning. She stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes. It was charmed to take on the ombre of the night sky outside, giving a subtle suggestion that one was sleeping out of doors. It glittered at her, indicating that it was probably clear outside, with sighting of stars. 

She was well wedged in between Severus and Erika, and Erika had one arm draped around Hermione, holding her tight, while Severus was turned towards the wall, but as if to make up for it, his foot had snaked around her ankle, and he was also hugging a pillow profoundly. 

Hermione unwound herself from Erika's arm, feeling a desperate need to use the bathroom, and she saw Severus' head turn abruptly. His eyes met hers, though she only knew from the slight glisten where they caught the light of the moon from outside. 

"Been a ruddy awful day, hasn't it?" Hermione whispered, as Severus slipped out from under the covers to allow her exit. "How are you faring?" 

"Not well," he responded carefully, "mostly bored, though. I swear I've been staring at that wall for an hour." 

"I'm sorry, that sucks," Hermione said quietly, getting up from the bed. She was satisfied with the little extra heave she had to put into that particular operation - her belly was starting to get in the way of things like standing up from sitting. "I need to use the loo - do you want to play a game or something in the main room?" 

He frowned, as if he'd had something else in mind entirely, but on the face of it he agreed, "Certainly. Whatever you'd like to do." 

She could hear him practically screaming that he wanted something else, but whatever it was could wait. 

She dashed on tiptoe into the bathroom, completed her ablutions, and returned to the main room where Severus had pulled out the chess board charm and was impatiently waiting for her to make the first move. 

"We don't have to play if you don't want to," Hermione said, sitting down on the sofa next to him instead of at the opposite side of the board. "Penny for your thoughts?" 

He appeared initially disgruntled at the change in plans; perhaps he was not as awake as he thought he was. In either case, he let his arm drape around her shoulders, and he sighed, letting his head turn down and his hair fall along his cheeks, hiding his eyes and framing his chubby face. 

"I'm glad you're getting on with Erika so well," he said, after several moments where he seemed to fight with himself about what he wanted to say. "But I'm worried that you're upset that I left with her while you were sleeping earlier." 

Hermione did a quick mental check-in with herself about this. She'd been lonely, true, but not really upset. Also according to Erika, he'd come to check on her an excessive amount, which was probably because of his feeling guilty. But it wasn't an unproductive loneliness; she'd pleasured herself like she imagined they had been doing, and while it was somewhat alienating, it was also relaxing, and the neurochemicals she'd earned then had helped her cope with the rest of the tumultuous day. 

"Don't worry," she reassured him, wrapping her arms around his waist and appreciating the way his multiple rolls of belly sloshed and jiggled as she pressed against him. His muscles seemed tense, as if he'd been ruminating on this for hours. "I wasn't jealous. I needed to get off, so I did, and while I was a little bit lonely, it ended up being exactly what I needed."

She felt his diaphragm expand underneath her arm, and he seemed to relax just the smallest bit. But not entirely. "Thank you," he said softly, not looking at her. He stared straight ahead at where the chess board emanated indigo and blue light, the only light in the room. 

Hermione, for her part, simply drew back his hair - it was in some ways one of Severus' juvenile habits that she'd began to see him doing more frequently as he let her get closer to him. He could be honest with her, unlike the rest of the world, but sometimes that vulnerability meant that he needed to hide his face - and she kissed him on his soft cheek, letting her lips linger, breathing on his gentle (if somewhat chronically oily) skin. 

Severus' body began to tense in a distinctly different way, and then he smirked, and looked straight into her eyes. They were close enough that his angular nose was just a hair's breadth away from her own. 

Hermione, for her part, relished the intense spike of adrenaline she got whilst waiting for him to kiss her. He held off for several minutes more than she could have - his breathing was steady, but she could see he was trying to keep himself from pursuing her lips, to build up the momentum. 

Then, the exact moment that Hermione felt she couldn't wait anymore, she blinked and he pressed his lips into hers. He was hot, and rough, and he nipped and sucked at her lower lip with passionate energy. 

This kind of game meant that he'd been very horny for a very long time. Chances are he never fully got to sleep, Hermione mused as her hand wandered down south below Severus' massive belly overhang, given the hardness and eagerness of his cock. 

He moaned as she touched him, grasping his cock through the fabric of his nightgown. "Gentle," he admonished through his pleasurable noise, "I won't last long, and I'm close to the edge now." In a more seductive tone he added, "Just feeling your incredible bosom pressed against me has got me entirely too excited." 

Hermione raised her eyebrow, and pecked him on the cheek with a kiss. "What would you have me do instead?" 

In response, he pressed his lips against hers once more. This was a short kiss, and then he kissed her on either side of her delicate mouth. Even these kisses were strong, full of conviction and flavor. They were enough to make anyone woozy and giddy.

"I've got something fairly important to attend to first," he said. 

Without another word, he threw off Hermione's grasp and struggled his body into sitting on the floor. 

"Open wide," he said with a grin, and it took her several minutes to realize that what he wanted was to *pleasure* her, not examine her. Though examining was indeed part and parcel of their usual practices! 

She then proceeded to remove her own pyjama pants, which were pleasingly tight around the middle and she had to squeeze herself out of them. It was particularly difficult because she was bound and determined not to move her fat arse from the seat of the sofa. She grabbed the unhappy elastic of the waist and yanked over one buttock cheek, then with some maneuvering managed to get the other one off as well. 

Severus, for his part, was already as deep into her crotch as he could get. He was on all fours - the only way he was going to be able to access her where she sat, given the ponderousness of his belly would get in the way. Once she got the trousers off the butt, he yanked with his teeth. It was incredibly sexy to watch him drag it off her feet, like a huge fat dog, even though he pulled a few of her hairs. 

Soon her clothing was discarded, and he was having his way with her clit and labias, sucking and biting and licking, licking, *licking,* *LICKING...*

"Oh fuck," Hermione cried out, moaning with pleasure and ecstasy as he brought her to climax. He kept at it like a workhorse, not giving up or even slowing down for a moment. 

Hermione found herself practically screaming, "Merlin's balls thank heaven oh gods!" as she climaxed again, a rush of hormones coursing through her body as she relaxed into the pleasure she could scarcely contain. 

But then, suddenly, Severus stopped just as she was about to get over a third orgasm, and Hermione begged, "No, now is not the time for teasing, keep going, keep going!" 

"Yeah," she heard a feminine voice answer from the bedroom door. "Keep going." 

Severus appeared somewhat confused, but as Erika added, "Go on!" he began to do as he was told. There was less fervor to it, but that was all right. Hermione was too abashed to enjoy it. 

"I'm sorry, Erika," she said, feeling like a terrible hostess, "I'm... I'm so sorry. Did we wake you up?"

"Yeah," Erika said, "but my sleep's all fucked up anyway with the time zone change. Besides, I should be thanking you - sounds like things are too exciting out here to miss!" She paused. "Unless you'd prefer some privacy. I can go back to bed if you want."

"Oh, erm, no!" Hermione said, and Severus stopped licking abruptly, and sat back on his (plump, delicious, oversized) haunches. 

"What?" he asked, and Hermione met his eyes. He had a sense of panic in his eyes, but there was something else - desire? 

He cast a glance back at Erika, then back at Hermione, then back at Erika, and then back to Hermione. And then he seemed to come to some inner conclusion. "I suppose, if you like, I have no objections." 

Then, with a sense of pride, he began to lick Hermione with renewed effort. He seemed likely to burn out a bit soon, though - she felt drops of sweat fall on her buttery thighs from his brow. He was really too fat to be good a this for very long, and she was impressed with how far he'd trooped. 

"Let me give you a rest, dear," Erika said, and Hermione felt Erika sit on the ground next to Severus with a thump. Severus, for his part, gave a final flick to Hermione's clit with his tongue, and he sat back again, panting hard. "Hermione, do you mind if I pick up where he left off?" Erika asked, and Hermione nearly swooned at the thought. 

"Erm, yes, please," Hermione said, and she felt her body tense up with anticipation. 

Erika's tongue was smaller than Severus', more dainty. Her lips were more soft, though, and she seemed to prefer quality of strokes to quantity; she had a way of waiting just a tiny second or two between strokes, which left Hermione ravenous for more. 

Erika wasn't an amateur at working with the vaginal equipment, that was for sure! 

Hermione found herself flooded with beautiful sensations and feelings. Severus' cunnilingus was robust and effortful, like a reliable engine. Erika's was more like a dance, full of artistic effortlessness that made Hermione squirm. She didn't necessarily prefer one over the other - in fact, at some moments Erika's was slightly annoying because of how unstable and unpredictable it was - but bring her to climax it did, and Hermione found herself riding a rush like she'd never had before. 

Erika pulled back as Hermione screamed with pleasure, and she patted Hermione's delicious thighs. "Mind if I continue putting my mouth to good use?" asked Erika warmly, and all Hermione could do was nod consent. 

Erika's fingers were exploratory and well practiced. Her tongue seemed like it wanted to taste every morsel of Hermione's thighs. She licked and nibbled at Hermione's soft flabbiness, pulling at it here and there. 

In short order, Erika made her way up to Hermione's breasts. 

"You should know," Erika sad as she pressed her face between Hermione's breasts, "I've wanted to touch these since first I saw you." 

"Oh gods," Hermione responded as Erika's lips latched on to one of her nipples, and it was sucking ravenously. Her left hand clasped Hermione's other boob, or so Hermione thought - until she realized that there was another pair of lips on her other breast. 

She opened her eyes from where she was reeling with pleasure, and in her dreamlike state she saw Severus had taken up a post on her left breast whilst Erika worked the one on the right. 

Hermione had never, ever experienced anything like this before - and she figured she probably never would again, so she might as well enjoy it. 

This was certainly enough excitement to put her to sleep, and when one of her lovers put their mouth down under for a final takeoff, Hermione felt like it'd nearly been too much. She felt utterly decadent and spoiled. 

Severus' tongue was on her sopping wet cunt, however, and she went along with it until she reverberated with a final earth-shattering climax that topped all the others she'd had that night. 

As she recovered, she waved both Severus and Erika away from where they eagerly tried to resume giving attention to Hermione's breasts. "Enough," she beseeched, feeling as high as a kite on a windy autumn's day. "Give me a moment to breathe, you two." 

Erika didn't wait a second before rushing Severus, who was panting with his most recent exertions. No sooner was he gasping for breath than he was gasping with pleasure as Erika had found her way underneath the hem of his nightgown to loosen his rock-hard erection with her mouth. 

"Oh Merlin," it was his turn to gasp, and he fell backwards from his crouchng position onto the carpet, where he lay prostrate and spread-eagle while Erika sucked at his wily. 

As he tumbled over, looking every bit an adorable bear and not at all like a scary famous potions professor, his stomach rumbled audibly. And then, Hermione knew she had a role she could play while Erika teased their boyfriend.

"Mmm," Hermione said, struggling up from the couch. "Let's find something for your hungry tum. That stellar job you did on my cunt cost you a lot of calories." 

"Will it be cunt flavored?" asked Severus foggily, and he shuddered with pleasure on the cusp of arriving. 

"Not unless you want it to be," Hermione said. 

"Please!" he responded urgently. 

Well, shit. She wasn't going to be able to do all that much if he wanted it cunt-flavored. 

She hurried to the kitchenette, her feet landing with an unfamiliar poundy-ness that was satisfying to hear. She opened the freezer and there sat the unlimited bowl of ice cream that she could have sworn had disappeared. 

Well, no matter. She ushured as much as she could into her vagina using the transmutation method he'd taught her, and soon she felt it the sticky vanilla dripping down her legs. 

In no time, she was over Severus' face, and though his eyes were closed, it took him no effort at all to reach up and start licking out her ice-cream filled pussy when she hovered over him in a squat. 

"Oh gods." Whether the ice cream or the short break had helped rejuvenate her, she wasn't sure, but Severus' tongue was hungry, and he wouldn't stop licking and sucking at her dripping cunt. 

The combination of cunt flavored ice cream and Erika's attentions finally drew Severus up the wall, and he orgasmed with a long, shuddering moan that Hermione wasn't entirely accustomed to. 

"Oh gods" Severus whimpered again, "Get me some more?" The ice cream was a bit more messy in this position than in the bed when they'd done it, as it kept dripping a lot. 

Hermione accio'ed a spoon and the remainder of the bowl - of which there was plenty - and began to spoon it into his greedy mouth. 

"You've got quite a bit of space in there," she purred, giving the bowl and spoon into Erika's accommodating hands. Hermione then moved down to hover over Severus' enormous belly. "But is it enough for all the ice cream in that bowl?" 

"There is," moaned Severus between bites, "there is." 

"Hmm," Hermione said, and she began to scrutinize him; through his nightgown it was inconvenient, but she drew it up and rested the hem of it on top of his large tummy, below his flopping breasts. Then his stomach reigned with its immense glory, and Hermione bent down to worship it. 

"It seems like you might," Hermione said teasingly, "but sometimes I worry, Severus, that your eyes might be bigger than your stomach." 

Severus just snorted in response - Erika wasn't giving him much chance to say anything between her swift offerings of ice cream on the spoon. 

"Hmm," Hermione said, poking his belly with one finger and letting her finger sink as deeply as she could manage into Severus' flab. "You do have quite a bit of stomach here, dear. Have you thought about perhaps going on a diet?"

"What," said Severus, "are you saying I'm fat?" 

"Well, yes, actually," Hermione confessed, pretending sadness. Erika laughed. "I think you've gotten a bit too ample around the tum, Severus - and eating ice cream is only going to make you fatter." 

"Oh well," he responded, and slurped at the spoon audibly. "As you said, I'm fat. Nothing's going to change that." 

Hermione responded by putting her hands on top of his belly and moving her hands in a relaxing motion, pressing against the sides of his stomach, helping to move around the contents of his tum and make it easier to squeeze down the last bit of ice cream. 

Severus, for his part, was eating as if he hadn't eaten all day, and Hermione was impressed by the amount Erika efficiently fed to him. 

Soon enough, the ice cream was gone. 

"Damn," Severus said, and belched. He had never done that before without covering his mouth and hiding it with embarrassment, that Hermione could recall - this one he bore proudly, as he might a battle scar. "I'm still quite peckish." 

"See," Hermione said, laboriously standing up, "you just ate enough to feed an entire army barracks, and what do you want? More! How are you ever going to lose weight this way, Severus?" 

"I won't, I imagine," Severus said, and Hermione saw Erika move to rub his belly in Hermione's stead. 

Hermione, for her part, went to the kitchen and found some biscuits in a tin, and some strawberry preserves. She proceeded to bring over the entire tin and jar over to Severus, and she dipped one biscuit in jam and put it into his mouth before he could snark at her some more. 

"Mmm," was all he could say, as he chewed hungrily. 

All remained quiet for the next quarter hour, as Hermione stuffed Severus' mouth every second, and Erika relaxed Severus' increasingly bloated tum. 

Finally, after reaching nearly the end of the biscuit tin, Severus covered his mouth with his hand and shook his head. It was the signal that he'd eaten more than he should have, and couldn't speak until it compressed a little bit in his overstuffed tum. 

"Good work," Hermione said, as Erika continued to rub Severus' belly. "You...seemed a little quiet." 

Erika grinned in response. "Yeah, well, this is something I can file under as 'your kink not mine,' but I'm happy to do what I can. I wish I could say I wasn't surprised when Sev told me about it this afternoon - I mean, medication makes people gain weight, but his weight ballooned to unreal proportions, you know? So I should have been able to figure it out, particularly since there's a lot of little clues he left me over the years to try and get me to see... it all makes sense, but I couldn't have guessed on my own." 

"Mmmmph," growled Severus with his mouth closed. There was a certain peacefulness about him, though, that Hermione hadn't detected before. He was replete and lazy, and overstuffed with food, and he had two beautiful women to take care of him, it seemed. 

Oh. Thinking about it that way, Hermione could see why he liked this so much. Feeding him was a way of taking care of him - something that, apparently, he craved, after so many years of alienation and loneliness. 

Hermione didn't mind taking care of him, as long as he could do the same for her sometimes.


	54. slytherin games

Severus lazed about, his overstuffed stomach protruding above him like a monument to his gluttony, and he lay there with his eyes closed, replete with satisfaction. 

Hermione couldn't help but keep touching him, and her hands roved over the tautness of his belly, feeling the way his skin stretched to accommodate the vast quantities of dessert he'd engulfed. 

Then she realized that she had missed something - Erika was sitting, as stony as a cat observing prey, and even in the dark, Hermione could see that there was the hint of sadness about her features. 

"It's your turn," Hermione said, patting Severus' stomach one final fond time, and she hoisted herself up, using the side of the couch as support. She was rather hungry herself now, but she put that aside for the moment. Erika needed some attention, particularly after her willingness to indulge the two of them so deeply in a kink that she didn't share. "How can I best pleasure you, if you want me to?" 

Erika took a deep breath of relief, as if she'd worried that no one would ask her. "I mean," she said, looking at Severus outstretched on the floor, "What I'd like most of all is a firm hard fucking from our friend here -" And then she poked Severus' big belly with a smirk. "But I don't think that's likely to happen. Will you do the honor instead?" 

Hermione frowned. "Erm, how, exactly?" 

Erika's eyebrows shot up with interest. "You mean, you've never used a strap-on before?" 

Hermione had to sadly agree. 

Erika huffed a bit. "I expect it'd be too much to hope that you even *have* a strap on." 

Hermione was about to respond - of course she didn't have one, who'd she use it on? - but was interrupted by Severus, who answered in a mumbly fashion, "I do." 

"Ah," Erika said, and made eye contact with Hermione. Hermione felt that Erika was trying to make some educated guesses. Then, looking a bit pleased with herself, Erika said with an even greater smirk, "So Sev hasn't told you how much of a little slut he is for anal, has he?" 

"What?" Hermione asked, finding herself laughing at the preposterous idea of Severus being a little slut in any sense of the word. 

"Not yet," admitted Severus, and with great effort, he sat up, and he rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't look so amused, Granger. You know what they say - once you've tasted crack, you never go back." 

"I think you made that up, dearheart," chortled Erika, who was finding the proceedings even more hilarious than Hermione did. "Because I don't know anyone else who says that." 

"Same difference," Severus said with a shrug of his beautifully rounded shoulders. There was a sense of quiet shamelessness about this confession, perhaps even pride. "But I never like it on a full stomach, and with Hermione, that's a rare occurrence indeed." 

"What can I say?" Hermione said, a bit of pride entering her own voice. "I like to keep my men well fed." 

"I think that's obvious," Erika said, her eyes twinkling. "So, Hermione, do you want to have a go at fucking me with a strap-on?" 

The way she said it was so casual, as if she'd said, "So, Hermione, do you want to have a go at this light-hearted friendly croquet match?" 

And, well, to be frank, it was a very inviting invitation. "I'll try it," Hermione said, "though please reserve your high expectations for a future, better practiced me." 

"Well, there's some chutzpah," Erika said with a grin. "Sev, where's your toy - and some condoms?" 

"My room," he said, attempting to ease himself up off the floor and not having a great deal of success. "But I could use some assistance." 

Hermione and Erika both stood, and for the briefest of seconds they hesitated, trying to see which should help their fat-arse boyfriend get his aforementioned fat arse off the ground. But with a sense of mutual decision, they both extended their hands to help him. 

"You'll need us both," Hermione said, feeling her own belly pinch with hunger pains. "You're getting too heavy, my dear." 

"So you keep telling me," mused Severus with acerbic scorn, but he was poorly hiding a smile.

With a few heaves - and, well, truth be told, there was a little playacting on both Severus' part and the girls' - Severus stumbled into a standing position. Now, he made an effort to be more dignified, and he smoothed out the wrinkles in his flowing nightgown and pulled a silk dressing gown around him. It was barely successful at tying around his protruding belly. 

"I'll be back presently," he said, and, slipping his feet into his velvet house slippers, he toddled off to get the items in question. 

As soon as the door closed, Erika practically bounded into Hermione's arms. 

"Tell me," she said, as she pulled one of the furry throw blankets off the couch and wrapped them around the two of them as they sat on the floor rug, "how ever did you get him so comfortable with his nakedness? It used to be such a struggle just to get him naked - he'd use every conceivable excuse to cover himself up, and hide his body. But ever since I've arrived, I've done sex with him twice, and he didn't hide at all either time." 

Hermione felt herself relax into the warmth of the blanket - and the warm coconut smell of Erika's soft arms. 

"I don't know," she said softly, "he just never did that with me." 

"So," Erika said with a smile, "real talk. May I ask how you two started going out? He only ever answers those kinds of questions with half-answers and evasion, and I'm really quite curious to hear your perspective."

"Oh?" Hermione asked, and was immediately puzzled. Erika had always seemed such an important part of her adult relationship with Severus that it hadn't occurred to her that Erika might be a little more clueless about it than her. "I mean, you were there from the beginning, basically. Severus and I only started being really interested in each other once he apologized at your recommendation for the thing he did back in August." 

Erika frowned, clearly also puzzled. "What thing? What recommendation?" 

Hermione was deeply surprised that Erika couldn't remember. Did she have some form of amnesia? 

But then something clicked into place. "Oh," she said, with a sense of realization. "Oh, that manipulative Slytherin arse." 

"What?' Erika asked, and her eyes betrayed no recognition. 

"Okay, here's what must have happened," Hermione said, chuckling aloud. "Severus did something back in August that was a violation of professional conduct and trust. It is also something he knew better than to do, and he did it anyway. Whether or not it was voluntary, or not, I don't know. But either way, it resulted in me attempting to file a sexual harassment claim against him, and lucky for him, I got stonewalled by McGonagall, who was trying to ensure that he got a second chance." 

Erika looked horrified at all this, and her eyes were wide. 

"Well, then the thing is," Hermione said, "he came crawling back to me with apologies, telling me that you'd gotten him to see that what he'd done was egregious and wrong. And he begged for forgiveness in a very convincing fashion. And I gave it to him. And this conversation was what led him to confess that he had a girlfriend, and then he proceeded to flirt shamelessly with me, until he confessed that your arrangement is a non-monogamous one, and that he'd be interested in dating me." 

Hermione took a deep breath. "I see now that there must have been something else that made him apologize, since you don't know anything about this." 

Erika nodded, seeming a bit spooked at the whole thing. 

"What that precisely was," Hermione said, "I don't know. But I suspect that Severus played me. Now the question is - what does all this mean?" 

Erika carefully unwound herself from Hermione and stood up. "I'm really not okay with all this," she said, "and we all need to talk about it. Now."


	55. always

Severus was startled to see the two women with clothes back on and the lights all brightly shining in the living room of Hermione's flat. 

"What's the matter?" he asked, putting down a silken red bag that made a suspicious clunk noise on the table. 

"We need to clear up a small matter," Erika said. She'd pulled her kinky hair into a tight bun, held with one of Hermione's spare clips, and she looked very serious and professional as she sat on the sofa next to Hermione, even though she was in her pyjama pants. While Erika radiated strength, Hermione felt like she herself was bleeding a little bit on the inside, and she felt herself melting just a little bit as Severus' look of genuine confusion writ across his face. 

He settled down in one of the armchairs opposite the sofa, since clearly he wasn't welcome there, he stared very seriously back at Erika in response. However, the fatigue showed in his face. He was weary, which probably meant he'd cut to the chase and continue to play games, which Hermione was grateful for. 

Erika's voice was flat and somewhat aggressive as she said, "Why did you tell Hermione that you'd consulted me in regards to the violation you committed against her back in the beginning of the school year?" 

It was clear that Severus had nearly forgotten about the incident - as had Hermione, really - and his face was deeply crestfallen in response. 

"I shouldn't have done that," he said with a sense of regret, "And I apologize, Erika." 

"Thanks for your apology," said Erika stiffly. "Now, the question is why - and what does it mean?" 

Severus eased himself back in his chair, and rested his hands on top of his distended tum. He stroked it a bit, fondly, as he contemplated the two women. Hermione didn't feel inclined to give him an inch, and she stared him down until he gave up. He demonstrated this by tipping his head upward and staring mutely at the ceiling for a few more minutes. Hermione admired the way his neck fat uncreased and stretched, the little ribbons of color gently demarcating the places where his skin folded and rolled. He was breathing deeply, too, and the way his too-full belly moved as he did so was hypnotizing. 

But not hypnotizing enough. Neither woman was willing to fall prey to his usual teacher tactic of waiting for the other person to speak first, and thereby lose. Finally he said, and there was a sense of ruefulness to it, "I did it because: I didn't think you'd believe me if I told you, Hermione, that I had reviewed my own actions and found them wanting." 

Hermione huffed. 

He lowered his chin, and his face was devoid of color and emotion. "Exactly. Just like now, you don't believe me." 

Neither Erika nor Hermione was willing to say anything to dignify that with an answer at first. Erika looked like she was evaluating a used car - skeptical, and as if she were disinclined to buy it. For Hermione, the jury was still out. If he was able to cobble together something sufficiently convincing, she might be able to chalk this up to early stage dating games and give it a pass. She felt fairly sure that Severus hadn't made a habit of lying thus far in their relationship. 

Too often he simply said he'd prefer not to talk about certain things, and she'd always respected that. 

Then again, maybe he had, and she just hadn't noticed. He was a master spy, after all. 

Severus looked a trifle older than she usually thought of him, now that she was looking at him in the brighter light. She noticed a stray gray hair or two that she hadn't observed before, but that wasn't all. There was an overwhelming sense of weariness in his spirit, and he looked between the two women. It seemed as if he were calculating something, for the briefest of moments, but then his eyes closed off with the overwhelming silence of occulmency. She recognized it because she'd been practicing it with him, and had gotten to know how his eyes looked when he closed off all his important emotions (the same way he'd done when at the hand of Voldemort). 

Shit. If he was occulmencing, that was definitely not good. 

"Hey," Hermione said, and stood up, and walked over to him. "Hey." 

She extended her hand to meet his. He listlessly gave her his hand, but there was no warmth in his gesture. It was like he were offering a corpse's hand. 

"Hey," she said, and she snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. "Come on. Don't panic. I'm not going anywhere." 

The snap got him out of the glazed look, and all of a sudden he was back again, and his dark black eyes began to fill. 

"How many times do I have to do this?" he asked softly, ducking his head down sharply and hiding his face behind his hair.

At first she thought the question was directed to her. She glanced back at Erika in confusion, but then Severus went on, as the question went unanswered, "How many times do I have to prove that I'm a better person than I once was?" 

"What are you talking about?" Erika asked, and she stood up and joined Hermione and Severus. She wasn't quite as warm and responsive as Hermione was to Severus' mood, and indeed she looked a bit like a fish out of water. Or, rather, a fish that had long ago learned how to live above water, but hadn't been above water for quite a while lately, and was emerging again for the first time. Had the world above the ocean changed? In what ways? And how should she adapt? 

Hermione, however, was well practiced at comforting Severus, and she knew by now what he was talking about. 

"Come on," she soothed, putting a hand on his shoulder and rubbing it slowly, consistently. "This isn't at all like that." 

"Isn't it?" he asked, not moving. "A boy does something incredibly stupid and bad, out of panic, towards a girl he fancies, and then when he tries to apologize and tell her he was wrong, she writes him off?" 

"Did you really fancy me, at that point?" Hermione asked, inappropriately curious. 

"Yesssss," he hissed, and he turned his head up to look into her eyes. "Since that first moment I caught you watching me, when I was stuffing my godawful fat face in the Great Hall." 

"So why did you lie in this particular way, though?" Hermione asked, not breaking eye contact. She felt a blush creep up over her cheeks as she remembered that first pivotal moment where Severus was choosing pastries. *He'd put on so many luscious pounds since then,* she thought, *and many of them because of me.* "You went through great lengths to tell me how you changed your mind about the incident. Why bother?" 

"Again," he said firmly, his face drooping towards the floor again, "because I have a history of pretty girls not accepting my plain apologies." 

"I don't understand," Erika said, shaking her head. "Is this about Lily?"

"Yes," Hermione said, and Severus said at the same time. Severus remained quiet, and Hermione added, "It's pretty much always about Lily." 

Severus seemed to refuse to speak any more after this, and Hermione added, "She's the knot that ties everything in his brain together." 

Erika sighed. "I guess I knew that, but it's been a while since I was really elbow-deep in Severus' brain about it. I kinda thought it'd gone away." 

"Always," Severus said, his voice low and almost growling. 

"Well, shit," Erika said, and she put her head in her hands. "Forgive me, my dear, but that's fucking nuts. And I say that in the kindest of ways." 

All he could do in response was shrug. 

"Well, I think we've done enough of this for one night," Erika said, shaking her head. "I vote we go back to bed, and sort it out later." 

"We?" asked Severus, and Hermione's heart broke as she read into the single syllable the connotation - he'd been expecting to be abandoned tonight. 

"Yes, you silly goose," Erika said, turning and scooping him up in her arms as well as she could. "It's clear that whatever reason you had to do this shitty thing, it's pretty intense, and I know I'm too tired to deal with this affair tonight. I suspect you all are as well." 

Severus didn't respond to her efforts, however - instead he raised his head and stared at Hermione. His eyes were glassy and his breathing was tense. He swiped at his hair with his free hand, pushing some of the front strands behind his ear. "Hermione?" 

"Of course," said Hermione, holding him close to her, wrapping her arms around him. 

He proceeded to bury himself in her shoulder and cry - huge, breathless sobs. Soon she was pressing him close to her as his tears wet her shoulder, and she rubbed his back and cradled him as best she could from her angle sitting on the arm of the chair. "Shh, shh," she whispered, stroking her hand through his hair. "I think this has been too much, tonight, overall." 

"Yeah," Erika said, and yawned. She planted a kiss on Severus' head, and stood. "I'm gonna leave you to it, if that's all right," she said, her voice growing soft. "I... I hope I didn't cause this." 

"No, no, hush," Hermione responded, and waved at Erika to return to the bedroom. 

Erika proceeded, and in a second, the door was closed, leaving Severus and Hermione alone. 

Severus had a lot of tears in him, but soon they died away, and he was hugging Hermione tightly. 

"Are you feeling better?" Hermione asked, continuing to stroke his hair. 

He didn't answer the question directly, but instead said, without moving from her grasp, "I refuse to lose you. I thought if I said someone else told me to apologize and get my head screwed on straight, you'd believe it better than if I apologized straight off. I've spent so many countless hours thinking of what I could have said to make Lily love me again - and that's the one I settled on as being most likely to work. I thought I'd try it on you, since the opportunity came up." 

"So," Hermione said, feeling warm and somewhat humorous despite this draining confession, "you weren't just trying to use any means necessary to get in my pants?" 

"Well, the answer to that is yes, somewhat," Severus said. "But only somewhat." 

"I'll take it," Hermione answered, and she kissed him on the cheek. 

"I... feel so foolish, now," Severus said, pulling away from her, but still holding her hand tightly. "I shouldn't have fallen apart like I did." 

"No, don't say that," Hermione said, "it's all right. It's a function of your disease. It's just the way it is." 

He sniffed, and rubbed his eyes on the back of his sleeve. "Thank you for understanding," he said softly, and he embraced her with a hug that made her giddy with tightness. 

"I... I love you," he said, and kissed her on the cheek. "And believe me when I say, I'll do anything to ensure that you're satisfied with me." 

"Well," Hermione said, "just... don't lie, all right?" 

"I never have," he said, his eyes gazing into hers solemnly. "I spent too many years lying to too many people; it lost its lustre after that. Since we began exploring each other as adults, I have done that only once." 

"Then let that be the last," Hermione said, and pressed her lips to his, trying to communicate forgiveness with every ounce of her kiss. 

Severus' lips were a bit stiff as she kissed them, but then she realized the reason for this: otherwise, they trembled.


	56. losing a mother

The next day, Hermione went back to St. Mungo's after work. She was exhausted and fatigued, but that was what the time turner was for - catching up after a day away from her students. 

She sat there with her father. Erika and Severus had, at her suggestion, remained at Hogwarts. Neither of them could do much of anything, Hermione felt - and she did want some time alone with her father. 

It was nice to sit there with him, holding his hand, as they waited to be admitted into the Ward for Unfortunate Muggles. He didn't seem well, and she wanted to make sure she was there for him as much as she could be. 

As they sat there, watching the healers and medi-elves that attended the hospital flow by, Oliver said, softly, "I don't know if I can make that kind of medical decision for her. We've talked at great length about our wishes - and have signed comprehensive advance directives - but of course that stuff never took into account this sort of magical problem." 

"I wish I knew how to help," Hermione said sadly, and she stared at a painting of a potted fern. It was charmed to wave in the breeze, and it was endlessly relaxing. 

Oliver shook his head. "In the regular hospital, when your mother had her heart surgery, there was a social worker around to help smooth out these sorts of things. I asked them if they had that kind of person here, and they just looked at me funny." 

"I don't think things like that are covered in Muggle studies, unfortunately," Hermione said, though it did plant the germ of an idea in her brain. "But you're right, dad, there should be someone like that for St. Mungo's. I'm surprised there isn't one, already, some sort of person to be a liaison for those Muggles who were so Unfortunate as to end up here." 

"That's a capital idea," her father said, and sighed. "I just don't know what your mother would prefer, if she were in her right mind. When she's all right, she'd prefer to cut off an arm or a leg rather than lose you, and everything you have meant for her. Having to choose on her behalf whether or not to surgically seal all her memories of you, forever... or to lose herself in an illness that would take over her life within a few years... that's such a burden. Too much of a burden to rest on my shoulders, even." 

"I know," Hermione said, and a knot was tied up in her throat. "But... to some extent," she said, her voice growing softer, "this is my fault. Losing my mother would be a just punishment for my hubris." 

"Look," Oliver said, and he wrapped his arm around Hermione. "From everything you told me, it wasn't hubris. You did some quick thinking on the spot and didn't think through the ramifications. That's absolutely normal for your age. In fact, it's to be expected. So why your former headmaster thought it was a good idea to put the burden of saving the wizarding world on the shoulders of three teenagers - that's absolutely mind boggling. From everything you've told me, I don't blame you. I blame him." 

"Perhaps," Hermione said, and she sighed. "But even if I was used as a pawn - which I *wasn't,* by the way - I still made the choice to proceed without caution and getting help as appropriate." 

"Because that's what he conditioned you to do!" Oliver said, and Hermione felt a sudden rush of strength below his doddering persona. He turned to face her, and she was struck by the fierceness in his eyes. "He conditioned you with positive reinforcement to solve puzzles on your own, and even when he gave you very little data to work with, you passed with flying colors - you are your mother's daughter, after all." 

Ah, yes. It's never completely truthful to say that a child bears the marks of each parent in their personality - but if Rachel Wilkins was the source of Hermione's intelligence, Oliver Granger was the source of her conviction and bravery. And it shone through here, as he argued in Hermione's defense. 

"Perhaps," Hermione said, still struggling to acknowledge that her mother's illness was not completely due to her foolishness, and at least partially could be sourced back to another irresponsible adult. "Or perhaps not." 

"Ms. Wilkins will see you now," said a medielf who presented themself to the pair, and with a brief strengthening hug, Oliver and Hermione went in to see how Rachel was doing. 

...........................

"We did it," Hermione said as she collapsed into the sofa. Severus was on the computer (and Erika was in the shower) but he pushed the laptop away as Hermione made room for him next to her. He moved himself over and wrapped his pudgy thick arms around her, and she relaxed into his embrace. She felt the tiniest of kisses at the nape of her neck. "We wiped her memory. My mother no longer remembers who I am." 

"I'm glad you're home," Severus said, cradling her closer to him. "Try not to think about it, if you can." 

"I left her some flowers," Hermione said, and she began to sniffle. "From the hospital gift shop. I couldn't watch as they did it. My dad will be back when they finish. I'm under strict orders not to see her for a full year, to ensure that the memory remains cemented, and then I can reenter her life in an orchestrated fashion. Like pretend to be a neighbor or something." 

"That's so difficult," Severus said, and his hand wound its way into her bushy hair. It rested there for several minutes, rubbing her scalp and gently stroking her curls. Then, his voice rumbled lowly in the quiet of the room, "How can I help you, my love?" 

"Just tell me that you love me," Hermione said, and she began to cry a little bit. "Just tell me that over and over again, and tell me that I'm not the worst person in the universe." 

"You certainly are not the worst person in the universe," Severus said sadly, "why would you say that?" 

"For letting my mother get to a stage of illness where it's either she has to forget me, or die." She felt like she was being just a little melodramatic but it didn't matter anyway. He had no right to complain! "I'm so profoundly stupid. Why do even like me? You like smart girls, not stupid girls-"

Hermione found herself crying harder at that, and Severus just rubbed her more gently, and hugged her close. "-Hush, hush," he whispered tenderly, and as she sobbed, he began to whisper in her ear, "One poor choice does not a stupid woman make. You're the brightest witch I know, and I love you. I love you. *I. Love. You.*" 

It heartened her to hear him say it. He seemed so begrudging with his affection sometimes that she often wondered if she'd imagined it, and this was all some sort of complex mindfuck. But tonight, she was more peaceful on this matter. 

Perhaps, tonight, she needed to hear it so much from him because she didn't feel like she could love herself, at this point. 

....................

That night, they all had dinner together. Oliver looked somber, but attempted to tell punny jokes he seemed to have been saving up for all these years, and anecdotes about the hospital. He couldn't get over how many things healers could do with their wands - things that Muggles needed enormous machines to do, or could not even yet do. 

Severus grimaced at most of the jokes and appeared irritated at most of the stories, but a few times he coughed into his napkin in a way that suggested he was trying to hide a chortle. 

Erika was the most loquacious at the table, and indulged Oliver well - she seemed to have some skill at social matters that both Hermione and Severus lacked, and it was a pleasure to watch her. She was almost artistic in the way she danced around the conversation, trying to integrate folks and bring in other ideas, even when both Severus and Hermione were a bit recalcitrant. 

And oh, Hermione. She found herself smiling sadly at most of her father's attempts to lighten the mood, and only felt awkward when Erika tried to do the same. She held Severus' hand frequently, seeking reassurance and support. He would sometimes kiss it airily, until Erika told them to cut it out, lest she be sick all over the table. 

In the end, Hermione and Severus returned to Hermione's room, while Erika and Oliver sat up late. Hermione wasn't sure if Erika came back or not - she fell asleep to hearing the low voices of Erika and Oliver out in the sitting room, and Severus' slow, heavy breathing over her shoulder.


	57. grading frustrations

Despite the traumas of the past few days, Hermione's life began to trickle back into its normal ways again, finally, like water through a leaky faucet. 

Severus seemed to be putting an earnest effort behind his attentions, as if to apologize for something much more serious than the matter at hand. It was both heartbreaking and affirming. Hermione felt confident that her relationship with him was stronger than before, though she also took note of how deeply Severus seemed to take this relatively minor relationship matter. 

Erika was also attuned to this, and talked about how practically anything (from an outright scolding to wearing on the wrong color shirt) was liable to put him in a space of 'she's mad at me and going to break it off with me because I fucked up,' when they first started dating. She seemed keenly interested to talk more to Hermione as the rest of her visit went on, to compare notes. 

Severus always seemed uneasy whenever the two of them spent time together alone, as if he expected each time he left the room he'd come back and discover both of them upset at him again. But as time went on, they showed him it didn't happen again, and by the end of Erika's visit, he didn't seem as nervous about it. 

While Erika's steamy sexiness was constantly on, Hermione found herself getting bogged down by the sheer amount of pre-holiday work that she had to do to prepare for her classes. She was very envious of Severus with his luxurious hours (he and Erika got to spend a great deal of time together while his potions bubbled), and found herself resenting it. In the end, she gave them a bit of a wide berth while she lamented over students' homework instead of whimsical sexy times. It was a bit lonely, but she felt like it was her own fault, so she shouldn't complain. But that didn't stop her from feeling shitty about it. 

In fact, she felt kind of shitty about the whole thing, the more she stayed away from them. Hermione, while she didn't feel like Erika harbored any particularly special feelings towards her, was a bit smitten with the other woman. Erika had proven herself capable, charming, and practically perfect in every way - and she also had very few weaknesses to speak of. She loved Jean-Raoul, she loved Marielle, she loved Severus, and she had a variety of other lovers besides who flirted in and out of her life. And Hermione didn't seem to be one of them. This pissed Hermione off, though she felt like she had no right to feel pissed off. Because that wouldn't be right, would it? Resenting her partner spending time with a pre-existing partner because that pre-existing partner didn't seem to reciprocate the same level of interest in her? 

No, Hermione knew that wasn't good or effective polyamory. That didn't mean she was able to control her feelings. All it did was make her feel more and more ashamed of her feelings. 

It was a day or so before Erika was leaving for the States again, and Hermione was up to her ears in papers. Most of them were done being graded, but she couldn't be arsed to drag them back to the classroom. Time after time she'd put it off, just giving them back - and it was frustrating to come home to her own space and find them sitting there, ogling her. Particularly when she still had a few more to go through. 

Oh, grading. Such a joy, and with so little reward. Hermione contemplated her candlestick, burning nearly to the stem, and she played with the idea of knocking down the candle and claiming an accident happened to all her little first-years' papers, and give them all O's to keep their mouths shut. 

"I know that look. You're becoming a bitter and jaded teacher yourself," came a voice from her elbow, and she nearly did knock over that candle as she spun around to see Severus. 

He was smirking. "I will never regret my choice to lay off traditional teaching forever." 

"And you're making me regret my choice to not use wards on my door," Hermione responded with an eyeroll, and she relaxed herself into the arms that wrapped around her shoulders snugly. "How are you, my dear?" 

Any lingering resentment she'd had about his use of his free time squirreled itself away, for the moment. Just being touched by another human being felt good, and the softness of the belly that pressed against her neck and head was too alluring. 

"I'm faring all right," Severus said, and added, "I haven't seen much of you the past few days." 

Hermione gestured to the papers around her. "My time had other victims to torture." 

"And my time has been worried sick that you've been giving us the silent treatment," Severus said, stroking her head and pressing it against him. She relaxed into it and breathed deeply of his warm tum, which was clothed in a soft stretchy silk fabric that left very little to the imagination. 

"Don't worry," Hermione said, rubbing her chin along the softness of his belly. "I've just been busy." 

"I see that," Severus said, and he squeezed her just a little bit tighter. "Will you come and have dinner with us? Cancel your date with the papers for the evening?" 

"I want to," Hermione said, "but I don't think I can." 

Severus stood back a bit and looked down at her, quirking an eyebrow. His hands rested on her shoulders, and he pressed his fingers into her flesh. "That wasn't a request," he said after a moment of searching her face. "Either eat with us, or be eaten." 

Hermione felt a rush of giddiness course through her body at the suggestion. "What, you'd eat me?" 

"Yes, my fat hog," he said with a smirk, and planted a kiss on the tip of her nose. "I'd stuff you silly and roast you alive, with a beautiful red apple in your mouth." 

Hermione nearly fainted with the surge of desire that rushed through her body. "With what would you stuff me?" she asked, and twisted herself until she was propped on her knees on the couch, looking up into his face, both her hands running up and down on either side of the buttons that closely lined his tum. 

He responded only by planting a juicy, slow kiss on her lips. "Come to dinner and you shall see," he said with a smile, and with that he broke away from her and strode to the door. 

"I'll see you soon," he said, and quietly slipped out into the darkness of the hallway.

Hermione couldn't be arsed to focus on her papers after that titillating experience, so she packed up her finished papers in ribbons and set them near her bag, ready to be taken out to her classes the following day.


	58. ethiopian

Severus and Erika were sitting in Severus' living room on the floor. There was a large reed mat on the floor, upon which they were sitting and making out. Severus' legs were astride Erika's luxurious butt, which was doing its best to grind against his flabby crotch despite the impediment of his enormous tum. Severus' eyes were closed, his neck arched to ensure his lips made solid contact on Erika's, and he was pressing his fingers around Erika's breasts, clearly enraptured. However, upon Hermione's entry, Erika disentangled herself from Severus and smiled at Hermione - her bright red lipstick complimented her slinky scarlet dress well. 

Hermione was embraced by the smells of something spicy and delicious, and a little bit sour. It was distinctly different from houseelf fare, but no less appealing. That, combined with the unique noises coming from Severus' phonograph, made her enter a completely different headspace than she'd been in before. The music was strong, like coffee, and featured a single male singer, offset by fluid accordions and flavorful brass. 

She sat down on the mat next to Severus and Erika, and Erika clasped Severus closely, but extended her arm in welcome to Hermione. "Come here," suggested Erika kindly, gesturing with her pudgy fingers. Her dark hair was done up in a careful, tight braid, and covered in part by a patterned scarf. Hermione squeezed herself in - a feat made slightly easier by the fact that she'd lost a little bit of her new-found weight in the stress of the past several days. Last she'd checked her weight charm, she only had about 215 pounds on her frame, which was a bit depressing to see but not surprising. 

Severus had made an absolute pig of himself during Erika's stay, however, and all of his clothes seemed just a touch tighter around the gut. Not that Hermione was complaining. 

"Erika made us dinner," Severus said, pressing a kiss into Hermione's thick squishy cheek. "Very torturous to have to sit here and wait for it." 

"It smells wonderful, true," Hermione agreed, returning Severus' kiss. Erika proceeded to squeeze Hermione and Severus tightly together. 

"I was waiting for so long for this visit," Erika observed, "and it's so close to being over. And I haven't spent nearly as much time with you, Hermione, as I wish I had." 

"You leave day after tomorrow though," Hermione observed, "that's still a bit of time yet." 

"If you make yourself available, my dear," Erika reminded, and she flashed a brilliant smile in return. 

Hermione acknowledged there was some truth to this, and they were interrupted by Severus' enormous stomach growling with hunger. "You *just* ate!" Erika said with awe, and Severus shrugged. Patting his belly fondly, with a wobbly effort Erika stood up and pressed a kiss on top of Severus' head. "If you two adorable fatties are ready to eat," teased Erika, "I suppose I could go ahead and bring out dinner." 

"Who are you calling fatties?" scowled Severus, but the blush on his face spoke for him. 

Hermione took the moment to squeeze herself between Severus' legs, where Erika had been sitting. She felt the way his thighs jiggled with fat as she pressed her own delicious home-grown arse against them, and she also felt how hard Severus' cock was getting as she did so. 

"I might as well start looking into recipes for fat pigs," Severus whispered in her ear, nipping at it. "You're such a glutton for pleasing me. Look at you, sitting with your soft flesh pressing against mine, arousing me beyond measure. I know you'd enjoy being stuffed and eaten." 

Now, granted, Hermione had no interest in actually being eaten. She was fairly certain Severus was also disinclined to do this activity. But they hadn't specifically talked about this before, and the threat of potentially being a project to be fattened and eaten was incredibly arousing to her. 

"Oh, please," she murmured, "don't... don't eat me. I am not nearly fat enough yet to be more than a mere snack." 

Severus squinted and leaned back, ponderously evaluating her. She loved the way his body was so rock-solid and steady in the arms and legs, while so soft in every other way - the muscle he had was well hidden beneath the layers of delicious soft fat, making him so much more enjoyable to squeeze than the chronically well-toned Ron. 

"Fine," he agreed, after several moments of deliberation, "Perhaps this time will not be the time to slaughter you for my Christmas ham. After all, it looks like you lost a little bit of weight, and we certainly can't allow for that. We're going to have to put a special effort into fattening you up in time for Christmas." 

Hermione nearly fainted at the sound of this plan, as it was, if Severus hadn't been supporting her, both arms holding her close in a nearly inescapable grip, she'd have fallen over. 

Erika returned from the kitchenette with a large steaming plate of thin spongy tortilla-like objects and an even larger plate that looked like a palette of twenty different colors of paint - except all of the paints were different types of stew, collard greens, roasted meat, pureed beans, and a little bit of salad. 

"What's this?" Hermione asked, not waiting to hear an answer as she searched for a fork. 

"Ethiopian food," Erika said with a smile. "My grandmother's recipes. She'd probably be amused to see me serving this now I'm an adult - when I was a kid I hated this stuff. I wanted burgers and fries." 

"I've never had this," Hermione said, and watched as Severus and Erika grabbed bits of the tortilla-like substance and used it as a wrapping mechanism around bits of meat, lentils, and other tidbits from the colorful plate. After observing Severus smile broadly and with great satisfaction, and reach forward to continue stuffing his face, Hermione began to follow suit. 

The bread substance was strange to taste, somewhat like sourdough bread, but the consistency was strange. It felt a little wetter than she expected, and a little more pungent, but after a few bites she got more accustomed to the taste. 

Hermione began to experiment with all of the different flavors on the plate. It was such a unique experience to get to try and eat all of these different types of foods at once - as part of the same physical dish. Erika explained each of the things as they ate, and encouraged them to try and identify particular flavors, like cumin or coriander. She told them the pancakes were called injera. 

Hermione, while she appreciated these tidbits, could barely care aside from wanting more and more of the stuff in her mouth. There was so much to taste and get in her belly - and Severus was watching every bite she took closely. 

In fact, once or twice, Hermione would take a little bit of food, and then Severus would stare at her until she increased the size of her bite by about twice as much, and then he'd appear temporarily satisfied and continue watching her eat. 

Severus finally seemed to become satisfied, and he rubbed his belly absent-mindedly as he scrupulously paid close attention to Hermione as she ate. It was rather nerve-wracking to have him staring and watching her like that, as if she were a potion that he needed to watch for overboiling. 

That is, until he picked up a big bite of the pancake, scooped out almost a handful of lentils, and offered it to Hermione's waiting mouth. She accepted it gratefully, and laid down her own hands, which were caked with the sourdoughy startch of the injera. 

Within a few moments, Erika also joined in the feeding Hermione fest. She was a little bit more conservative than Severus in terms of how much he tried to stuff into Hermione's mouth, and honestly Hermione preferred that kind of feeding to the other. It was easier to get more food inside her, faster, by using this method. 

Bite after bite went into Hermione's bloating tum, and finally she pressed a hand to her face. "That's enough for the moment," she proclaimed, "unless, Severus, do you have something to help me out?" 

Severus nodded, and hoisted himself up into a standing position. He stepped a few ways to the left, and procured a potion from his kit. Then, he offered ti to Hermione. "Come on now, Hermione," Severus said, "take this potion and it will calm your stomach and ensure you will be able to fit the rest of the country, if you wanted it." 

Hermione laughed a little bit, and took the potion. It was one she'd used before, and as expected, it made her stomach feel calm and tranquil, for the most part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (more to come! sorry i was falling asleep writng this because tired so will write more tomorrow - double feature perhaps?)
> 
> Music: Ney Ney Weleba, by Debo Band. (found on Spotify using Ethiopian Music 2013 Vol. 2). Also Woleyawa by Tagel Belay.


	59. second round of ethiopian

The potion left her stomach feeling relaxed, and more comfortable. Also significantly more empty. She reached forward to grab some more food, but was interrupted by Severus' soft hands pressing down her shoulders. 

"Mmm," he said, mildly scolding her for getting up, and he sat again next to her. He wiped his hands on a napkin and then proceeded to pick up more food for Hermione to eat, whilst placing one hand on her belly. "Come," he commanded, his voice dark and low as he pressed his fingers - pinched around a bite of lentils and injara into her mouth. His fingers were covered in the savory spice, and Hermione sucked the slightly sticky injara off of his chubby fingers. 

Severus groaned in response, and Hermione's hand immediately went to check on his erection. It was getting hard. 

He met her gaze as she smiled at him innocently, and his eyes were serious and sharp. "Do not," he said softly, "move a muscle." He stared solemnly into her eyes for another moment as he regarded her with suspicion. 

The thrill of hearing him speak like this, to her, nearly made her come. She felt like a giddy schoolgirl again as he finally broke eye contact and reached forward to get her another handful of food. 

She watched greedily as he leaned towards the platter. His stomach flopped over the top of his too-tight trousers, and despite his best efforts, his fitted shirt kept coming up, revealing the squishy underhang of pale white belly that hid underneath all the black fabric. It was a beautiful sight to see, the way his fat settled so profoundly around him. He seemed to emanate softness, and every movement he made was highlighted in the ripples of his fat. 

Erika was sitting back and watching the activities with some interest, laying back on a pillow, one leg bowed in a candid pose. She looked like a movie star, especially with her winning smile. 

"You two are such experts with each other," she murmured as she watched them. 

Hermione, having been told not to move a muscle, didn't say anything in response, but she felt a little glint of pride in her eyes. 

Severus came back with two hand-fulls of food. "Open," he stated authoritatively, and Hermione duly opened her mouth and discovered the contents of the pancake landing in her mouth. The bite-sized morsels were soft, easy to swallow with little effort. 

Ah, yes, he was maximizing her capacity by packing her with the carbs first. "That's right," he coaxed her as she accepted another bite and swallowed hungrily. "Keep at it. You've come a long way - but you've still got such a long way to go." 

He wiped one hand on a napkin, and then rested it carefully on top of her expanding stomach. His fingers massaged gently at her roly-poly paunch, and eased some of the stiffness that came with the stuffing she'd already endured.

She met his gaze, and there was a calculating, thoughtful look in his eyes. Then he smirked, and ducked his head so that his hair covered over his face, and he reached forward to acquire more food. 

Again, Hermione admired the way his belly pressed against the cloth of his shirt, begging for reprieve from his buttons. The shirt was riding up a little bit more, and absently Severus pulled at it, but without much success. The shirt was riding up, and seemed determined to show as much of Severus' soft flab as possible. 

This became even more clear as Hermione watched him. His reach was a bit short to get at the plate of fresh injara, and he was grunting as he reached. "What a fat pig you've gotten to be," Hermione whispered to herself as she watched him. "Can't even get to the next plate of food without effort." 

He stopped reaching for the food and, his face serious and suspicious, he turned to look at Hermione dead on, one eyebrow arched inquiringly. "What was that?" he replied lowly, with (faux) danger in his voice. 

"Here," Erika said, rolling and inserting herself between Severus and the food. "Let me." 

This was sufficient distraction for Severus, who cast another steady glare at Hermione before turning his attention to Erika's culinary efforts. 

Erika began to pack little dumplings made of injara, and Hermione watched happily as Erika tore bits of chicken into smaller pieces, and added a little pinch of some vegetables before wrapping it in the sour pancake. 

Hermione watched happily as Erika began to make a plate full of these little bite sized dumplings, and Severus planted a kind, pleased kiss on Erika's cheek. Then, as Erika continued working, he turned back to Hermione, and he was as serious as a tango dancer - and just as handsome in the way he whipped his hair around his chubby face. 

Hermione opened her mouth wide for the extra dumplings, and accepted them happily, greedily. They were simple to chew a few times for the flavor and then swallow once the next one was near her mouth. Severus' fingers were deft and adept at getting there at exactly the right moment. It was unsurprising for a potions master, in some ways. 

It was particularly lovely to watch how Severus seemed so fascinated to watch her. It was almost as if she were some kind of experiment - he seemed careful, constantly assessing as he filled her what the status of her overstuffed tum was. His fingers were permanently lodged on top of Hermione's growing tum. 

Once in a while, as she struggled down a particularly dry bite, he would offer her a sip of milk or sweet tea. And then once her thirst was sated, he'd get right back to stuffing her face. 

It was such a luxury to be fed. Hermione knew that this was an indulgence that previously might have shocked her as a child, but now in her adulthood she relished it. Life had too many rules. Some of them needed to be broken, for the sake of making life a little more worthwhile. 

And what a pleasure it was. She closed her eyes and simply let her mind be washed over with the sensations of the room that she could smell, hear, taste, and feel. Denying her the necessity of her eyesight, she let her tongue embrace the soft, spongy injara bread that entered her mouth and relax into the savory tastes that lay within it. 

The smells in the room were evocative and inviting, and made her want to curl up in a dumpling and eat her way out of it. She heard the little motions of Erika as she readjusted herself on the reed mat, and Severus as he leaned over to plant a kiss on Erika's cheek. She felt Severus' fingers dip underneath the lower of her gut and experimentally weigh it in his hand, cradling it like a precious flower. And she also felt Severus' finger twisting among her hair near her ear, gently teasing it until she felt his body lean closer to her, and she felt him plant a delicate kiss on the side of her cheek. 

And then she felt something more warm in front of her lips, and she opened her mouth and chewed the flavorful bite. 

Still, good things must end sometime, and Hermione finally began to get slower and slower as she tried to make room for more of the dumplings. She closed her eyes and tried to swallow as automatically as possible. 

She didn't open her eyes until she was sitting, open-mouthed, waiting for something to enter her mouth, and there was nothing there. Hermione genty opened her eyes, and saw that Severus was getting up to move. She glanced over at Erika, who was smiling and gathering up the empty plate. 

"Is it... all gone?" Hermione asked, her eyes opening wider than expected. "I ate it all?" 

"Yes," Severus said, standing, "and you'll also have to eat some dessert." 

Hermione hoped desperately that the dessert was either mousse or ice cream, because she couldn't handle anything with any solid component at the moment. She just nodded and rested her two hands on top of her rising belly. 

It was like looking at a bread loaf that had risen. Hermione touched the overstuffed tummy that she boasted, and it looked as if it stored enough bounty to make her a prime target in any pinata contest. She rubbed her aching belly and closed her eyes again, feeling the warmth of her tum as it overstretched and begged for mercy. 

"Here," Severus said, and Hermione felt a cool lip of a cup at her mouth. She opened obediently and swallowed a thick creamy milk that reminded her of somewhat melted ice cream. 

"Mmm," she responded to the goodness that had flooded her mouth, and swallowed as best she could. "But now, I really can't have any more," she said, as Severus kept the lip of the glass near her face. 

She opened her eyes as he withdrew the glass, and he seemed to be assessing whether or not she could indeed manage another sip. Then, deciding against it, he sighed and downed the remainder of the sweet drink. 

"I'll need a midnight snack, I'll wager," he said primly, as if he'd just said that he expected the archbishop of Canterbury would be arriving at any minute, "but for the moment, let us retire to the bedroom?" 

"Yes, please," Hermione and Erika both said at once. 

 

 

"This story is both beautiful and depressing. In my culture which is filled with people who value what you look like first than what's in your heart, makes me envious of Hermione's life. She loves her body and she has two sets of eyes that finds her delicious and beautiful. This fics gives me hope that maybe one day... Thanks for updating." A flashback to chapter 43 review from Meldz - thanks for the thoughts :)


	60. menage a trois 2

They all removed themselves to the bedroom, Severus taking a moment to piss, and Erika guiding the drunk-on-food Hermione by the arm. Hermione was pleased as punch to have Erika's assistance navigating the way - she was nearly dizzy with the amount of food she'd consumed, and moving alone was inadviseable. 

She landed with care on the bed, laying down on pillows that Erika propped up underneath her head, and then she felt two soft, petite hands move up her belly. She was wearing a cotton jersey dress that was stretchy and soft, and Erika's fingers seemed to enjoy the way Hermione's taut skin responded to the feel of the cloth as it slipped over her. 

Hermione enjoyed it, that was for sure. 

She watched as Erika moved, sitting cross-legged in front of Hermione, and Hermione's legs were folded and spread wide, as if she were delivering a baby. Erika had easy access to Hermione's vast tum, and she made good use of it - she rubbed at Hermione's belly with gentle, soft motions, pressing deeply into the tissue where the fat seemed to give way, and Hermione relaxed into the pleasing sensations. 

Severus, for his part, returned from the restroom, and he had a satisfied smirk on his face as he approached the two women. 

"You're having fun," he said to neither of them in particular, and he lay down next to Hermione on the bed, but he joined Erika in rubbing Hermione's distended belly. 

Hermione felt like she must be having a baby or something - either that, or she must be a goddess. Being fawned over by two folks was enormously erotic and exciting to her, and she loved the feeling of so much physical and emotional attention. She felt as if she must be in heaven. 

"I need something more to eat," she whimpered, since there were only two more things she needed now - to be fucked, and to eat. Preferably at the same time. "Someone bring me something?" 

"Of course," said Severus coolly, and he eased his own fat arse up from the bed and toddled back into the kitchen area, whereupon he brought back a bowl of vanilla ice cream with chocolate chips. "This ought to go down easy," he said with a paternal softness that made Hermione feel inexplicably cared for and beloved, and she obediently opened her mouth to allow the spoon entry as he offered it. 

"Is it all right if I also eat something?" asked Erika, and Hermione reflexively said, "Of course!" 

Whereupon Hermione suddenly felt her underwear being thrust down, and a hot breath in her crotch.

 

Hermione felt herself nearly go numb with the ecstacy of having Erika's tongue hungrily licking her clit. As her body's lower extremities melted with nearly-instant orgasm, she felt a cold spoon at her lips, and she accepted it without questioning. 

"Mmm," she murmured, and then she nearly screamed as Erika's licking became more pronounced. 

"Fuck!" she exclaimed once she'd swallowed, and she felt her thighs extending wider, to ensure that Erika had unfettered access to her chambers. 

"Yeah," she heard Severus say, his voice low and sultry, "you like being fed in both ways at once, don't you. Your hunger for the flesh as well as the hunger of the stomach. Such a glutton for pleasure, you are. What ever made you such a little slut?" 

"I just am," Hermione whimpered, and Erika's teeth made a little bit of contact on her pubic fat, which made her intake with breath sharply. "Oh gods." 

"Yes," Severus said, and she felt his voice get close to her. She opened her eyes and saw that he was staring into her eyes, his nose nearly touching hers, and at seeing the flutter of her eyelashes, he pressed his lips fervently into hers. She tasted the sweetness of chocolate and vanilla on his tongue, guaranteeing that he'd been sampling his own wares, and she moaned into his mouth as she searched for remnants of hidden chocolate.

"Yes," he murmured again, his voice dark and lustful, and he dropped the spoon into the bowl again and got himself into a crouching position on the bed. He then transitioned himself from this position to one where he was standing over Hermione, astride her vast softness. 

Erika, for her part, had progressed to fingering Hermione, and was stuffing her fingers inside Hermione's vagina, stroking experimentally. It was preparation for more fireworks, Hermione diagnosed, but she was soon distracted by the view she had of Severus' broad, heavy gut. It hung over his belt so beautifully, and he hadn't bothered to tuck his shirt in after he'd used the bathroom, which meant she got a full and unadulterated view of his pale, stretch-marked tum. 

"Get out of those pants," rasped Hermione, the lust making her voice constrict. "I want to see you better." 

"With pleasure," Severus purred, and with a few practiced movements, he undid his too-tight belt and trousers, and they came crashing down after a poor effort at staying up on their own, as if they'd given up a long time ago. This left him in his soft black underpants, and these came off with a bit more of a struggle, but soon they had also come off and were tossed mercilessly on the floor. 

Then, Severus made some wandless magic motions, and created a sort of chair for himself out of thin air. He sat himself upon it, a mere inch above the top of Hermione's fat belly, and then he adjusted it so that instead his dick was at a prime position to reach Hermione's mouth. 

"You're so hungry," he said, as sweetly as a devil on her shoulder, "could I tempt you with just a little bit more dessert?" 

"Oh," Hermione said, and nodded her head vigorously in consent. 

"Are you going to fall off that thing?" Erika asked, withdrawing for the moment as Hermione was distracted. "I can't even see it for your fat ass, Snape." 

He turned back to stare at his other girlfriend, and Hermione was sure he was giving her a fierce and unabridged glare. But he wouldn't be permanently distracted from Hermione so he turned back again and raised his member with one hand, and massaged his balls with the other. 

Hermione opened her mouth obligingly, and Severus, after a few lengthy minutes where he enjoyed his own touch, stuffed himself inside her mouth. 

Hermione wasn't afraid to open her mouth wide for his fat dick, and she sucked and tightened her mouth around his girth. There was something about her partner's genitals that she loved. The softness of it, the texture of it, the way the hood rubbed back and forth with such friction over his cock... oh, she loved to see how her mouth pleasured him. She pressed her lips into his cock as hard as she could, to create optimal suction. 

"Careful of teeth," he whispered once, but otherwise his head was turned up, his eyes were closed, his head arched back, his shoulders relaxed and broad, and his legs thick and strong as they helped him maneuver over him. 

She felt the telltale sign of his impending collapse as his muscles tightened, his breathing became more rapid, and she felt drops of sweat land on her sweet soft skin. 

"Coming," he whimpered, and she felt the rush of hotness in her mouth as his salty cum washed over her tongue. She contained it tidily, then as he withdrew she turned her head over the edge of the bed and spit it out into the metal wastebin. 

Weakly, Severus practically fell off his platform, but he rolled deftly onto the bed next to Hermione. "Oh gods, thank you," he whimpered, "Thank you." 

"My turn," Erika said commandingly, stirring a fluttering in Hermione's heart, and soon Erika was also astride the air chair that Severus had made. "This is strangely comfortable," she admitted as she swung back and forth above Hermione's round breasts. She lay back, and found herself well supported no matter her position. "What a clever spell." 

"This is its debut," Severus said with a hint of pride. Hermione turned her head to meet his gaze. He was propped up on some pillows and laying on his side, posing like a Renaissance painting, and he was smiling. Well, smiling as much as Severus could smile anyway. In one hand, he was stroking Hermione's soft right breast, cupping it and massaging it as he enjoyed the weight and movement of it. In the other, he was fondling his own balls, presumably trying to get himself ready for another go. 

"You wickedly clever man," Erika said, "Any way I could convince you to come back with me to America?" 

"Not a chance," he responded, and he draped an arm around Hermione in a protective, assertive fashion. "Not when I've got this hungry little slut to occupy my time." 

"Are you still hungry?" Erika asked Hermione, and Hermione nodded. "Then let's do this," Erika said, and asked, "Severus, could you summon some mouthwash?" 

"With pleasure," he responded with a low growl, and with that, he suited the action to the word. A decanter of mouthwash landed straight in Erika's hand, and she poured a little bit into Hermione's mouth. 

Hermione sloshed it around a bit - she instantly recognized this as preparation for changing partners for more oral - and spit into the wastebin again. 

The flutter in her heart hadn't gone away. This was the first time she was about to have the privilege of pleasuring another woman - with her tongue or any other means. She had to make it count. 

Hermione took a few deep breaths. Erika was smiling, and she parted her own pubic fat to reveal her tight little apparatus below the hood. 

It almost made Hermione feel faint again to see a cunt with such close proximity. And then she took the plunge, taking a hesitant sniff - it smelled sweet and salty, and a little bit like fish - and then taking a hesitant lick - it tasted musky, a little bit like warm beer but less yeasty. 

She knew the taste of a woman was something that was an acquired taste, but she could take her time getting acquired. 

"Sorry," she said, breathing in Erika's scent some more, "this is my first time doing this." 

"Oh honey," Erika said sweetly, and she caressed Hermione's curly hair. "Take your time. You don't have to if you don't want to." 

"I do though," Hermione said, determinedly, and she took some more deep breaths of Erika's scent. She found it growing on her, bit by bit, and she had another experimental lick at Erika's clit. 

Erika nearly roared in ecstacy. "God," she whimpered, "please," she murmured, "please do more." 

"I will," Hermione whispered with a hiss, and like a snake, her tongue darted in and out of her mouth, licking Erika in a wide sweep of effort. 

"Oh," exclaimed Erika, and her back arched and she bared her throat. "Please, more. More!" 

Hermione proceeded to practice her first time eating out Erika. Erika was increasingly delicious, though it was still a bit strange to taste. Hermione found that cocks didn't have much of a taste, if they were clean and recently washed, but vagina was different in that it had a flavor to it. 

It wasn't what she'd call her favorite taste in the world, but she could see the way that Erika writhed that it was pleasuring her greatly, whatever it was she was doing, so Hermione kept at it. 

"Oh gods," she heard Severus moan, and she felt him press his engorging cock against her thigh. She felt the way his hand was stimulating himself, and she herself began to feel like she needed a good fucking. All the oral aside, she needed someone to really pound into her. 

"You are so sexy to watch," Severus elaborated with gasps. His eyes were focused on Hermione's face, and Hermione just grinned at him in response, between her own efforts. 

After a final shudder, Erika twisted herself off the air stool and landed on the other side of Hermione. 

"That was brilliant," Hermione whispered, feeling as dazed and breezy as she imagined Luna Lovegood felt like most of the time. 

"And now, more to please you," Severus said, and lumbered up into a sitting position again. "If you like." 

"Are you going to do what I think you're going to do?" Erika asked with a gasp, and Hermione's eyes widened. 

"There's just one problem," Severus said, and he jerked at his cock a few more times before deciding, "I only have enough for one of you, for the moment. I'll need a few hours to prepare again. Now, which of you is ready?" 

"I volunteer Erika," Hermione said, "She's leaving soon." 

"I volunteer Hermione," Erika said, "I'm a bit spent myself, for the moment." 

Severus gave a calculating, lopsided grin. "Then Hermione it is. If you like," he added. 

Hermione glanced back at Erika, who gave Hermione a thumbs up. "Yes, please," she said, feeling luxuriously overindulged. 

With a flourish, he cleared away the invisible air chair and, with another motion, he swept her along the bed until she was neatly positioned at the end. She maintained all her pillows, but now she was accessible for his cock from a standing position. 

"Prepare yourself," he said, and without further ado he sank his cock into her cunt, and she relished the way it was warm and wriggled into position. His beginning strokes were long and masterful, and she closed her eyes as she relaxed into the familiar sensations and position. Then, with increasing power and energy, Severus began to fuck her harder. He readjusted her as he seemed to want another position. Soon he was leaning over her, using the bed as support for his trunklike, flabby arms, and fucking her even harder than she could remember before. 

Because he'd spent himself so thoroughly before, he needed a long time to bring himself to completion inside her, and she was satisfied with this. He waxed and waned with the rise and fall of his energy, and she felt his beads of sweat drip onto her as he worked his arse off. She felt herself awash with orgasms multiple times as he pleasured her, thrusting so firmly and enthusiastically into her, hitting her at the exact right spots. 

Soon, she felt the sense of him becoming faster, and his strokes became more rapid and strong. "Careful," Hermione said, as he began to pound her harder, harder, harder! 

"Ooh," Erika said, observing with pleasure, "damn, Hermione, you're one lucky girl. That man's working it like there's no tomorrow." 

"Shhh," Hermione whimpered, and groaned loudly as she came again. "You -- and me - will have our chance - ahhhhhh." 

She relaxed and triumphed with a final exhortation, and simultaneously Severus spent himself inside her. 

Soon enough, he was laying on top of Hermione, and Hermione was patting the soft heavy man who was squishing her so wonderfully. 

"All right," she sad after a few calm, tranquil moments, "you'd best be getting up now." 

"Oh, must I?" asked Severus, but compliantly he rolled off her onto the space that Erika made for him on the bed. Erika immediately cuddled him close and held him tight, and Hermione turned over and joined Erika in doing this. The two womens' hands met on top of Severus' belly, and they held hands there, loosely intertwining their fingers together. 

Severus, for his part, seemed exhausted, because he seemed unable to respond to anything they did or said other than a "Hmmm?" 

"All right," Hermione said after several moments of recovery. Severus was still taking deep, slow breaths with closed eyes, but Erika seemed eager and itching for a little bit more. "Where's that bag Severus brought?" 

"Here." Erika drew the bag from the nightstand and tossed it to Hermione. "You need help figuring it out?" 

"I'll try my best," Hermione responded, and removed the apparatus from its case. 

It was a nice, wide dildo not dissimilar to Severus' own cock, and it was settled in a strap-on that seemed like it wasn't completely undone since its last use. Hermione got up reluctantly from the bed and stuffed her legs inside it. It required a bit of tightening, but she found that it fit well enough once she had it on. 

"It requires some practice to get good at," Erika said, "but with practice comes perfect, you know, so know I won't be upset if it doesn't happen right away." 

"All right," Hermione said, and she fiddled with the plastic cock. "So Severus likes it in the arse, does he?" Hermione said, and flicked the jelloy silicone. It jiggled invitingly, though not too much - it was stiff, but had a little bit of heft and jigglyness to it. 

"Yeah," Erika said, "so you wanna clean it with your wand or whatever before using on me. Though Sev is so OCD I doubt it's necessary." 

Without further ado, Hermione scourgified the cock well, and then Erika spread her legs wide on the bed. 

"Are you two fucking?" asked Severus sleepily, and he turned over and faced them, his eyes barely able to say open. "May I watch?" 

"Of course," said both girls at once, and Erika and Hermione both made eye contact and laughed. 

"Of course," Hermione said with a bit of a smirk, and then she gently approached Erika. "Let's try this, shall we?" 

"Ay yi, captain," said Erika with good humor, and she propped her legs open with a beautiful spread. 

Hermione then proceeded to dive gently into Erika's cunt. Erika was quiet for a few moments, as Hermione began to find a pace for herself. She soon found an angle that made Erika's cervix squirm with a familiar motion of pleasure, and then with a few deep breaths, Hermione began to move faster and faster. 

"Ooh," Erika moaned as Hermione began to get up to speed, "you're doing so well, you're doing so well." 

Yes, Hermione really liked fucking Erika with a strap-on. The thrill of it made her feel like royalty. 

This day's sexual play certainly topped the list of her most pleasurable days in all history. And it made her deeply sad that this wasn't something she and Severus could have on a daily basis, whenever they liked. Alas, alas. 

Hermione worked her own arse off until Erika orgasmed herself into exhaustion. 

"I'm done," Erika begged, as Hermione relaxed after several vociferous thrusts. "What a good piece of work, 'Mione. Really splendid. A plus." 

"Thanks," Hermione said, remembering that this was the American muggle equivalent of an Outstanding, and began to take off the apparatus. "That was fun." 

"You're telling me," Severus murmured, and before either of the women could respond, he buried his face in Erika's arm. 

"I think we'd best take a rest for a while," Erika said, patting Severus on the head and kissing his forehead. "At least this one seems like he's ready for a serious nap." 

"I'll join you," Hermione said, and she crawled into bed next to Severus. 

Severus as so nice and broad and fat, and she curled up against him and kissed his soft shoulder. 

He groaned with satisfaction, and Hermione wrapped her arms around the lower area of his belly, where it was at its most flabby. Erika, for her part, let herself face the window, letting Severus spoon her. 

It was such a peaceful cuddle that Hermione soon drifted off, happy and content in a way she hadn't felt much of in the past several days.


	61. post erika talk

Severus was quiet after Erika left. She seemed to fade away quietly, while Hermione was teaching her classes, and Severus was sober and sad their first night together again, alone.

"How are you coping?" Hermione asked, relaxing into her comfiest chair with a pot of tea at her elbow. Severus sat down at the sofa and sighed. His body slumped, and he seemed to woolgather briefly until he shook his head briskly.

"Ready for some goddamned piece and quiet," he said, and he lazily extended his arm in her direction. Hermione finished pouring them both tea, and passed him a cup. He accepted it gratefully and then reached for her free hand. She took it, and smiled at him.

He seemed melancholy, but not in the tortured way that he usually did. Instead, right now, he was just a tad bit sad, with a kind of sweetness behind his half-smile as his eyes met hers.

There was no shame in his eyes, nor desperation. There was some gentle longing, as if he were fondly recollecting a lovely life he'd had before. Then, with another effort, he shook his mane of hair again, let go of Hermione's hand, and took a sip of the hot, sweet tea. The tendrils of steam wafted up from it, and he sipped cautiously, slowly.

Hermione glanced down at his posture. His roundness had not subdued during Erika's stay, and instead had been augmented, but not in the tight belly-stretching way that Hermione was accustomed to seeing with him. His figure was getting doughy and soft, and he was looking tremendously portly in the soft black fabric of his button-down shirt and cravat. His fat seemed to threaten the seams of said cravat, which was plastered across his stomach like paper mache.

He watched her, watching him, as he sipped his tea. A satisfied smile began to emerge on his face, and he sighed again. She felt her own breath catch to watch him, as his stomach heaved with the effort of expunging air.

Yes, she was pleased to see her lover looking nice and plump, and she was even more pleased to see how he didn't seem to be suffering as much as he sometimes did.

Hermione, for her own part, glanced down at her own body. Her thighs were coming along nicely, and she was rarely comfortable putting her legs together in a ladylike fashion.

One of the extraordinary things about getting fat was how she physically took up more space - she felt like she was increasingly clumsy, knocking things over with her unusually large arse, stumbling once in a while because of her heavying breasts.

Also, she found herself sitting like a man, more frequently. It was a simple matter of physics - she couldn't keep herself contained. She had too much body to merely sit and fade into the background. With every pound she gained, she was getting more and more undeniable.

She wasn't entirely sure what this meant. She felt like this was empowering, though. As if, simply by the act of taking up more space, she was attempting a radical act that threatened the patriarchy.

Or maybe this was just fantasy. She wasn't sure.

But what was also undeniable was the way her belly rolled beneath her breasts, the way her dress clung tightly to her sides, the way her chin and upper arms had so much more... substance to them.

Yes, Hermione felt *very* good with the progress she'd made on her body, and as she sipped her tea, she admired her handiwork. She also ate a biscuit, her fifth since she'd started to make herself some tea. They were digestives, graham with chocolate coating. The chocolate melted on her chubby fingers and she licked at the corners of her palm, picking up the remainder.

Still, these had done nothing to quell the rising tide of hunger in her belly - made more apparent by the sound of her stomach rumbling audibly.

And Severus' smile grew all the more wicked at the sound. He looked as hungry as if he wanted to eat her all by himself.

He sipped his tea again, however, pretending he hadn't noticed. "Thank you for indulging me by having her come," he said, taking visible pleasure in teasing her. In his eyes and in his growing grin, he carried a depth of lust, and he wasn't ready to acknowledge it yet, or embrace it. "You seemed to get on well."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, "we did. And I hope we continue to do so."

"Same," he responded, and he laid down the teacup thoughtfully. He arched his eyebrow at her, in a silent request, and Hermione glanced where he was looking at the sugar. Wordlessly, she passed him the bowl of sugar lumps, and he pressed his lips together in acquiesence. "Thank you," he said softly, taking the sugar tongs and applying the lumps to his tea.

Hermione took that moment to stand up and stretch. "I could do grading," she said, the words sounding as dreary as the task ahead of her, "or, I could make us a bit of something."

"I think I'd like a bit of something," he responded carefully, and his eyes were wide and inquiring, simultaneously curious and satisfied. "Then I think I'd like a bit of something else."

"I think both can be arranged," Hermione said with a smile, and she wiped her hands on her luscious thighs, heading to the kitchen.

..........

Sooner than later, she was elbow-deep in what she desperately hoped was going to be a pie crust. She was rather worried it wasn't exactly what she was hoping for. She'd taken some boxes of stale tea biscuits she'd been avoiding eating and smashed them up into a chunky meal. Then she mixed this with butter to make a graham paste, and had lined a large pie tin with this paste. So far, so good. The question was - was she going to be able to find something to put in the pie, to actually make it a pie?

In the meantime, Severus was puttering about in the sitting room. Severus hadn't taken his phonograph back to his rooms yet - in fact if Hermione had to guess, the phonograph was going to live there in her own sitting room for the forseeable future - and he was fiddling with the vinyl discs trying to find something suitable to listen to. Eventually he sighed and put on a record at random. It was a record of cello and piano duets.

With a sigh of resignation, he collapsed upon the sofa, leaned his head back against the edge, and closed his eyes to absorb the music. There was a darkness to the music that he'd chosen, with some harmonious resolution at times. But overall, the tone was melancholy and sweet.

Hermione lit a candle, since it was starting to get dark already outside the window, and she kept on poking around the kitchen. Finally she found some apples and pears, just on the right side of too old for consumption, and without a thought she cut them up and put them in a pot to simmer with some lemon juice, cinnamon, honey, vanilla, brown sugar, and nutmeg.

She proceeded to join Severus on the sofa, and wrapped her arms around him as she snuggled against his warm, soft body. The lush cello music was climbing and sinking with the style of 19th century dramaticism that seemed so appropriate to Severus. She closed her own eyes and felt him breathing slowly, almost in time to the music. His softness was so irresistible, and her fingers wandered underneath the lip of his shirt, which had somehow slipped up and become untucked around the underside of his belly.

She let her fingers enjoy his soft squishiness there, and as they landed, he drew a sharp intake of breath.

"Ohhh," he murmured lowly as Hermione's cool fingers began to pinch at his rolls of belly fat. In particular, Hermione loved to grab his nice juicy love-handle and heft it. "Ohh. Hermione, Hermione," he whispered, and it was as if he were repeating to himself a reminder of what name to call her. "Thank you," he whispered, as Hermione graduated from grabbing his fat with her full hands to simply stroking his hair. "Thank you," he murmured again, and took a deep shuddering breath.

"What do you keep thanking me for?" Hermione asked, putting a peck on his cheek.

The question remained unanswered for several minutes. Hermione wasn't even entirely sure if Severus had heard it, and she was thinking about whether or not she should ask it again when he finally did answer, "For being with me."

"Aww," Hermione said, and pressed her cheek against his chest. His arm wrapped around her, and he cuddled her closely.

"It means I'm not alone, now," he went on. Hermione raised her head and saw that Severus hadn't opened his eyes. He was still arching his neck back, relaxing his head on the back of the sofa. "I'm so happy I'm not alone."

"You definitely aren't alone," Hermione said, and pressed her cheek deeper into Severus' soft chest, trying to hear his heartbeat.

He chuckled with a bittersweet tone, and he squeezed her tighter against him, then released gently. "Do you realize," he said softly, "how many years I spent being alone?"

"No," Hermione said. She could guess that the answer was "a lot," given what she knew of Severus' history, but it seemed like he wanted to talk about how he was feeling - which was a rare thing that she certainly intended to 'indulge' as much as she could!

"All of my life," Severus said sadly, "less the years Lily was my best friend."

He sighed. He still hadn't opened his eyes. The music around them was growing more quiet now, as if perfectly attuned to the mood between them. "I'm sorry," Hermione said, and pressed her lips against Severus' cheek. He remained sober and unmoving, and then he came up with another thing to say. "Do you know," he asked, still with his eyes closed and his face towards the ceiling, "how many years I spent thinking I was going to be alone, forever?"

"I have no idea," Hermione answered, though she could likely have guessed the answer to this question, too.

"All my life," Severus answered, taking a deep breath. "less the years Lily was my best friend, and I knew I was going to marry her."

He sighed. "But even then, some part of me knew she'd never be with me. So I suppose I never stopped thinking I would be alone forever. Hermione," he said, and his voice was somewhat more urgent, but he didn't open his eyes. "It's only after I'm forty five years old that I'm beginning to hope that I will have company in my life, til the end. That's, so..."

Severus opened his eyes blearily and looked at Hermione. There was a fogginess in his eyes, but he was clear-headed when he said, "I'm glad that I'm starting to have hope on this front, is what I mean to say."

"Thank you, for saying all that," Hermione answered. "I want to be there for you, Severus, through the end times, whatever they might be."

Severus closed his eyes again, nodded faintly, and Hermione extricated herself from his arms. She proceeded to kiss him softly, determinedly, on the lips as she went back to the kitchenette.

 

(Songs: Mendelssohn, Song Without Words For Cello & Piano In D Major, Op. 109. Max Bruch, Kol Nidrei, For Cello & Orchestra, Op. 47.)

 


	62. chrysalism: baking and blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chrysalism - n. the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm

The contents of the pie were beginning to pique her nose's interest, and Hermione made her way to the kitchenette. 

"What are you making?" Severus asked. 

She turned her head back and met his eyes, which flicked up from where he'd been scoping out her arse. 

"Something sweet," Hermione answered, keeping it light and coy. She proceeded to ignore Severus for several minutes as she bustled around the kitchen, gathering a ladle and some other utinsils she knew she'd need. 

Severus, for his part, got up to stop the record that had run out of music and was spinning soundlessly. He casually selected another record. Soon they were listening to some blusey jazz that made Hermione's hips rock gently as she stood in the kitchen. 

The rattle of the guitar and the insistent prodding of the piano made Hermione thoughtful and pensive. It echoed in her brain in such a way as to make her feel nostalgic. 

Wanting to hint at seductiveness, without looking at Severus she undid a few buttons of her bodice, until her collar began to protest and shoulder of one of her sleeves began to charmingly slip down her arm. 

Then, still not even casting a glance in his direction, she opened up the piping hot cauldron of stewed apples, removing the lid from the steamy pot, and took a pleasurable whiff of the scents. The delicious flavors had melded together, and she was dying to taste them. She closed her eyes and took a deep wafting sniff, waving her hand as if she were testing the smell of a potion. 

When she opened her eyes, she saw that the kitchenette window was steamed up with the heat from the pot, creating a cozy, domestic feel to her activities. Outside was cold, and dark, and it was beginning to rain. It started and accelerated fiercely, as if Hera were taking a much-needed piss, and Hermione smiled at the image. 

Removing the pot from the stove - which, I must remind you, wasn't something as simple as removing a pot from one of our Muggle gas-powered stoves; this was an ancient coal-based monstrosity from the 1800s with its own peculiarities and apprehensions - Hermione laid it on a trivet on the counter.

The smell was evocative enough that it lured Severus into the kitchen. As soon as her hands were free, she felt his arms sneak around her plump waist and grasp her tightly around the middle. His softness enveloped her from behind, and she took a dreamy gasp. 

"Care to dance?" she felt Severus rumble in her ear, and Hermione nodded silently, feeling her cheeks rush with color. 

She felt him gently pulse up and down, bouncing just a little bit at the knees in time to the music. At the start of each musical phrase, she felt him shift his weight slightly from one foot to the other, and he carried her with him as he pulsed back and forth. She felt like a reed in the wind, waving back and forth like that, but she also felt incredibly protected by his soft cushioning. 

Then the music sped up a bit, to a bit of a more active tempo, and she felt him gyrate just the slightest bit against her expansive bottom. He continued to hold her tight, and they were touching cheek to cheek. His eyes were closed, and once in a while he would lay a firm, possessive kiss on her ear, making her feel hot and tingly all over. 

He wasn't absurdly hard, she felt through his trousers, but there was certainly something happening there as he danced. Truth be told, Hermione was also quite aroused. 

The rain was progressively worse outside. As they remained there, cozily content in the glowing light of the kitchen, a piercing lightning lit up the sky. 

Severus opened his eyes, and held Hermione tighter to him. 

"What weather," he said softly. "I used to hate these kinds of nights." 

"You don't anymore?" Hermione asked, and she grinned as he kissed her cheek ravishingly. 

"No," he answered, and she felt him draw back, but only so that his lips could slip down to grace her clavicle. 

"And why not?" Hermione asked, taking a moment to grab a wooden spoon and stir the concoction in the pot. 

"Leave that be a moment," Severus said with a good-natured snarl, and before Hermione could say or do anything, he was dragging her to the couch. 

"Fine!" Hermione squealed, and when Severus pressed her flat on her back, onto the couch, she didn't protest. Indeed, she felt a sense of tranquility and happiness bubble up through her body. This made her feel completely at ease with the situation, and lent her some smiles for her eyes. 

Severus, for his part, once Hermione had collapsed onto the sofa, ambled onto the sofa as well, cautiously positioning himself where he could look down upon her. 

His knee pinched her, actually; a bit of her lovehandle got caught beneath him, and she yelped automatically. "Sorry," he whispered, then with a grin, he added, nipping at the base of her jaw with a bity kiss, "maybe if there weren't so much of you, my dear, you wouldn't get in the way as much." 

"I take offense at that!" Hermione jokingly protested, "are you saying I need to go on a diet?" 

"I was thinking you'd benefit from it," Severus responded, huffing a bit and sitting up. "I mean, look at what a blubbery angel you've turned into." He slapped her tum, and she felt her cervix contract with arousal as her belly jiggled back and forth. 

"You're one to talk," Hermione responded, her fingers running down her bodice and beginning to undo the remainder of her buttons. 

Severus looked down at himself and shrugged. 

"So it would seem," he responded. "I forget sometimes what a fat arse I've come to be." 

"Yeah," Hermione said, and she grinned with glee as Severus also began to remove his shirt. "Let's take a look and see how big you've gotten." 

He nodded, his eyes alight with fascination and delight. "If you insist," he drawled, but he was enthusiastically removing his clothes at this point. 

Soon they were both quite disabused of all their clothing, and Severus was again poring over Hermione's body. One of his knees was squished between her thigh and the back of the couch; the other was stuck firmly in the space between her thighs. One of his hands was jammed into the trench formed by the cushions of the couch, and one was flat, spread out just above Hermione's shoulder. 

She stared up at him and appreciated the way he looked. His belly, stretchmarked and raw, hung off his body like a sack of potatoes, and she distinctly saw how it hung almost independent of the rest of him - just a huge soft ball of blubber attached to his body by the infinite fibers and cords of human flesh and muscle. His breasts were heavier and softer than she'd ever seen them before, and they jiggled vigorously as he breathed. His arms were thick and meaty, almost the size of thighs, and as he moved she could see where some muscle revealed itself even under his fatness. Still, he was incredibly fat, and a pleasure to drink in on every aesthetic front. Not the least of which was his face - it was soft and round, though with a hint of angularity she expected he'd never lose in the chin and temple. He was coming due for a shave, and Hermione wanted to reach out and touch his stubble. 

But she was being held quite effectively a captive, and as she itched her hand up, Severus firmly and irrevocably held it down. 

The blues music was still humming in the corner, resolutely cool. 

He was also gazing down at her, and there was a subtle smirk that implied he was enjoying what he saw, too. Then, as another pang of lightning struck in the sky outside, he waved his hand and extinguished all the large lights in the room. This left only the candle Hermione had lit in the kitchenette, which emanated a glowing coziness that really set the mood. 

Hermione felt Severus' fingers headed in a southerly direction, and she felt her body tense up with the eager anticipation. 

Then, she felt him stop. His hand dropped down by her side, stuffing itself into the cushion trench again. 

She opened her eyes, and saw that his face was incredibly close to her own. She felt his breath on her lips, and as she opened her mouth to speak, he kissed her hungrily instead. 

There was something really dark and ravishing about being with Severus tonight. Hermione didn't really know what was going on in his poor head, but she was more than wiling to ride the train and see where it went. 

They kissed and petted fondly for a few minutes, until Severus withdrew somewhat and stared into her eyes. 

"You have the most lovely eyes," he said, after a few minutes of assessment. "You're... so beautiful." 

"Thank you," Hermione said softly in response, and she propped herself up so that she could kiss him as well. "You are too." 

They'd had this conversation before, as we've witnessed, and Severus still wasn't completely prepared for how to respond. 

He didn't say anything at all, and instead pressed his lips into her mouth to resume kissing her passionately. In the meantime, the fire in the stove crackled, the thunder outside rumbled, and the apple stew on the counter wafted its delicious smell throughout the flat. 

 

 

Songs:  
Call it Stormy Monday - B. B. King.  
She's a Good 'Un by Byther Smith


	63. Occhiolism: on heritage and st andrew's day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> occhiolism - n. the awareness of the smallness of your perspective

Occhiolism

 

 

The world seemed to catapult itself into the holiday season as soon as Erika was safely back in the States. Erika left on the 28th of November, and Friday of that week was St. Andrew's day.

 

"I believe," McGonagall said tremulously as she stood in front of the assembled breakfast-eaters on Friday the 30th, "it is a mistake that Hogwarts has traditionally done its best to remove itself from the Muggle traditions and cultures that bear no *apparent* relevance to the wizarding population at large. It is essential to intercultural harmony that Muggle holidays be observed with the same respect and sanctity of traditional wizarding holidays. After all," she added, with a wry smile and a friendly glance in the direction of Hermione. For her part, Hermione was sitting at the staff table, urging Neville to finish his bacon, and she was caught off guard.

 

"As time goes on," Minerva went on, "we will have only increasing numbers of Muggleborn students. And as such, it is increasingly prudent to observe Muggle cultural traditions alongside the traditional wizarding holidays. In particular, observing Muggle traditions means that we will be taking into account local and regional holidays as well as national holidays. So, today, classes will be cut short, and end at noon. This evening, there will be a holiday feast and entertainment, including ceilidh dancing."

 

There was a hum of anticipation among the students, many of whom were unfamiliar with the concept of ceilidh dancing. Hermione, as it happened, was one of them. She had a vague image in her head of plaid-wearing people wearing skirts and kilts, dancing with soft black shoes that laced up past their ankles. Was that what they were in for? She wasn't entirely sure she was excited about it.

 

She glanced at McGonagall, and Hermione thought back to her knowledge of the older witch's history. Minerva was proudly wearing a tartan shawl as she addressed the students - same as she often did - and it occurred to Hermione that she didn't know if McGonagall had Muggle ancestry or not. Given the absence of scuttlebutt on the topic, Hermione was inclined to assume that the headmistress was descended from a long-standing family in wizarding society... but then again, perhaps McGonagall deliberately used this illusion to her own advantage.

 

As Hermione reflected on it, she realized that McGonagall was very distinctly a loner in the wizarding world. Hermione rarely saw the headmistress fraternizing with anyone socially, now that Dumbledore was dead. In Hermione's mind, McGonagall didn't seem intimidating given that McGonagall had made herself available to Hermione since Hermione's first entrance to the wizarding world. But no one else seemed to share this sense of solidarity with the headmistress, and most students (and teachers, come to think of it) were intimidated by the woman.

 

Hermione figured that Severus probably had a conclusive answer, given his long-standing special interest in people's' blood statuses (well, enough of an interest to become a Death Eater, at least).  Still, it didn't stop her from asking in a whisper, to Neville, "Is McGongall a muggle-born?"

 

"I don't know," Neville said, and sighed. His cheeks were looking chubby and round, though the rest of him was barely an average-heavy build.  "I really don't think she is. I mean, people'd know, if she were one, right? Ugh. But to change the topic - I don't think I can finish any more, 'Mione."

 

"All right," Hermione answered, a bit distracted by thinking about Minerva's history. "There will be plenty more to eat later today, it sounds like." She remembered Minerva mentioning some uncle and his wife, when they had the conversation where Hermione disclosed to McGonagall that Severus' size was appealing. But other than this, what did she know about McGonagall's family? Practically nothing. Minerva never talked about visiting with family - and Hermione had the distinct impression that McGonagall always remained at Hogwarts over the holidays.

 

Now, as she looked at the other woman, she was beginning to form some conclusions about the other woman's history. And as Hermione looked at the woman in her tartan shawl, standing proudly in front of the entire school, it made sense that the woman was a Muggleborn. In fact, the more Hermione thought about it, the surer she was. Minerva always wore the same plaid - the plaid of her clan, Hermione realized. Her original 'house' colors. Now this, combined with McGongall's recent move to integrate Muggle holidays in the school year at Hogwarts... well, it seemed like conclusive evidence that Minerva came from much more humble beginnings than Hermione had ever guessed.

 

There was clearly a story there, because Minerva had never breathed a word to Hermione (or anyone, as far as Hermione knew) about her blood status. Minerva let people assume she was a pureblood.

 

Hermione's heart broke at the very idea of this. She could never imagine letting anyone make that assumption about her - she was far too proud of where she came from.

 

But she also thought back to her own initial days at school. Hermione remembered the way that people had looked at her when she told them she wasn't born from magic blood. Hermione remembered going back to Hogwarts, a History, which she'd already read so many times. Hermione remembered that she hadn't adequately read between the lines of that text, and had missed the implicit meaning behind many of the anecdotes and tales. Hermione remembered the moment she'd figured out that being a Muggle-born not only was a historical disadvantage, but also a contemporaneous one. It was only once she was poring over a footnote about the murder of a Muggleborn in the early 1800s, and simultaneously thinking about the cold shoulders of her housemates, that she began to get the sickening realization that she wasn't wanted at Hogwarts because of her blood status.

 

Hermione had never felt this until she actually came to Hogwarts. Previously, all her knowledge of magic was limited to Hogwarts, a History, and McGonagall. And McGonagall had been downright thrilled to admit Hermione to Hogwarts. The warmth that came from Minerva on her first visit to Hermione's childhood household was subtle, given her prim appearance and no-nonsense approach to introducing the wizarding world, but Hermione had perceived and absorbed this warmth. And so it was such a shock to come to Hogwarts and realize that this same warmth and excitement didn't radiate from almost anyone else when she arrived at the school. (With the exception of teachers like Flitwick, who appreciated her genius at charms, and Sprout, who was warm and effusive with everyone.)

 

Feeling sad as she thought about this, she eased herself up from the table and patted Neville on the shoulder. “I’ll see you later,” she said, feeling deeply depressed.

 

Neville stood up from his chair awkwardly, and grasped her hand. “Later,” he murmured, squeezing her hand, and she slipped it out of his grasp as she walked away.

 

…………….

 

“McGonagall is a Muggleborn, right?” Hermione asked of Severus as they - privileged, as teachers, to opt out of the activity - sat and watched McGonagall teaching the entire student body how to ceilidh dance. Well, they were sort-of watching. They’d come and made an appearance for the historical introduction of St. Andrew’s Day, and slipped out to the gardens as soon as any physical activity seemed imminent.

 

Now, they sat together in the late autumn afternoon. The brown and gold leaves blew in the breeze, chasing each other like puppies enabled of flight. There weren’t any flowers in sight, but some of the bushes boasted heavy clusters of red berries.

 

There was sun, but it wasn’t enough. Severus had set a warming charm on them both, but Hermione hadn’t worn a cloak, and she still made herself cozy against Severus’ soft body. He had a cloak that was warm enough for two, and while he grumbled absent-mindedly as she wrapped herself in it with him, he stroked her hair once she was situated.  

 

He was lazily watching the dancers, visible through the glass windows of the Great Hall, and not attending to the important conference-related parchments they’d brought out with them to review. His long hair was teased by the breeze, and his tongue touched his upper lip thoughtfully.

 

“I believe so,” Severus answered, his words slow. He let his gaze fall back to her, and there was a hint of curiosity. “Though, come to think of it, I don’t know entirely why I know that. I don’t think she’s ever said so out loud. Why do you ask?”

 

“I’ve just been thinking about it,” Hermione answered. She felt a grin slowly grow on her face as she heard the first few squeaks of the student music ensemble as it attempted to grind out the jaunty reels for the dancers. “Mostly just thinking about why she decided to do this.”

 

“I suppose if she were Muggleborn, it’d explain it somewhat,” Severus answered. “I’m surprised that the students are going along with it all so calmly.”

 

“Probably it’s just they’re mollified by having some time outside of class,” Hermione said, and she arched her neck and pressed her lips into Severus’ soft cheek. “Granted, I’m not displeased by some unexpected time off.”

 

“It’s not exactly time off for me,” Severus grumbled, and made a show of trying to read the parchments he had in his hands. “Ergh. Gallity has some nerve.” He showed Hermione the parchment he’d been reading.

 

Hermione looked at the parchment, which was a clean and fresh presentation summary from one of the presenters for their upcoming conference. “He didn’t make any of the revisions we suggested,” Hermione said with a tense feeling rising in her stomach. “Let’s just toss him, shall we?”

 

“I’d tend to agree,” Severus answered, “but it’s old fusspots like him that have the deepest pockets.”

 

“ERGH,” Hermione responded with exasperation, and she closed her eyes and snuggled closer into Severus’ cloak. “Remind me why we’re doing this again?”

 

“It’s my job, technically,” Severus answered with a rumbling, dry response. He turned his head and stared at Hermione through his dark, impenetrable eyes. His eyebrow quirked, and she saw the hint of a smirk emerge in his lips.  “Though heaven knows I have other jobs I’d prefer to be working on right now.”

 

“What other jobs?” Hermione asked, and she knew immediately that their conversation was entering flirtation mode.

 

“Oh, I suppose there’s the certain matter of keeping my pet well fed,” Severus drawled, and Hermione felt his arm move around her ample waist. He pulled her closer to him, and she practically melted into his body. “Wouldn’t want her to go hungry.”

 

“What if she’s hungry now?” asked Hermione, wiggling with excitement at Severus’ implication.

 

“Then she should be fed,” Severus answered, and he patted her shoulder and shifted his weight. Hermione stood up to permit him the chance of standing. Once he’d managed to get his immense body up and vertical, he said, “Wait here.”

 

Then, with a kiss to her forehead, he turned on his heel and went straight back to the Great Hall. Hermione watched as she went, feeling at once joyous and incredibly lonely.

 

The music in the Great Hall was gaining momentum, though had occasional fits and starts as McGonagall stopped the dancers for introducing new techniques and correcting mistakes. She watched as Severus stalked down the garden path, then abruptly turned to enter the side door. He was so precise, so straightforward, so unflagging.

 

As she waited for Severus to return, it was difficult not to compare him in her mind to Neville, who was serving as McGonagall’s dance partner in demonstrating the moves of the ceilidh dances. Neville wasn’t adept, and he struggled to move in a way that exerted any confidence, but he was pliable, and he smiled good-naturedly when he fumbled over his own feet.

 

It was good to see him taking an interest in something other than his insufferable greenhouses or her, so Hermione felt some amount of relief as she watched the other young wizard enjoying himself.

 

She saw Severus through the window as well, and he was silently slinking towards the refreshments table, like a shadow. Ever so briefly, he glanced up, and they locked eyes. Hermione raised a hand to wave to him, and he simply nodded and began to gather up treats from the table.

 

And Hermione felt glad, to see him attending to her needs so carefully. But even so, she felt sad - sad for McGonagall, mostly. How much had the headmistress sacrificed to be part of the wizarding world?

 

On that note, Hermione felt a sobering question emerge in her breast - how much had she herself sacrificed to be part of the wizarding world?

 

Being a Muggleborn wasn’t just hard because of the social implications. The more she thought about it, the more Hermione realized that she’d sacrificed a lot - a lot - to have the life she had now.

 

She’d made big choices, like charming her parents’ memories rather than telling them what was going on, and trusting them to protect themselves appropriately. Also, her choice to pursue a career in the wizarding world rather than the Muggle world - and she’d chosen that twice. But in some ways, these big choices really weren’t the ones that mattered.

 

Hermione realized that she’d lost far more of her identity in the tiny choices she made on a daily basis. Choices like what to wear every day, like whether or not she’d express confusion over some obscure practice or word that everyone else assumed a knowledge of, like her use of casual magic for daily tasks versus doing it ‘the Muggle way.’

 

The more she thought about it, the more she realized that her life’s tiny choices were really the essential ones - choices that enabled her to remain part of the world and not remind folks around her that she was an outsider. And as she thought even deeper, she began to see that each choice was a compromise, and sometimes it was a loss.

 

Eventually, these choices stopped feeling like they were choices, and instead felt like routine - when you don’t own a comfortable pair of Muggle jeans, it becomes routine to wear proper witch’s robes, for example.

 

Some of these choices were superficial, like clothing choices, but some were much deeper. Hermione mentally compared herself with what she’d thought she would become, before she encountered magic. And she saw there was a huge difference between the Muggle university-educated woman of her childhood dreams, and the witch she saw in the mirror.

 

Her world was so much more complex than she’d ever thought it could be, she thought as she watched Severus come back outside, with a plate of food in each of his hands. And doubtless McGonagall had also lost a great deal, for the same reasons. In fact, McGonagall had probably lost more.

 

But Hermione took heart from watching McGonagall proudly show off her tartan. That was something beautifully unwavering about McGonagall - and possibly the only way that McGonagall could treasure and connect to her heritage.

 

Sadly, Hermione had no idea what she could do to connect or treasure her own heritage. Hermione herself wasn’t entirely sure what kind of heritage she had.

 

She decided that she needed to come up with something, like McGonagall’s tartan, to remind her of who she was, and where she’d come from.

 

She wondered if Severus had something like that, or if he was too busy trying to escape the haunts of his past to honor what little heritage he had.

 

………..

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Music: The Black Mask (Scandinavian Waltz) (find it on Youtube)

  
SCOTTISH WALTZ: O' Gin I Were A Baron's Heir/Nameless Lassie/Bonnie Isle Of Gletness  (also on Youtube) 


	64. opia: trouble in the garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> opia - n. the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable

Opia

Severus smirked shyly as he seated himself back on the iron bench in the garden, a plate of food in either hand. "This should tide you over," he said as he settled his arse deeper into the seat. Hermione pressed closer to him, and as he raised a sliver of scotch egg to her lips, she accepted it hungrily. The warm fried confection was savory and delicious, and she found herself practically moaning as she swallowed it.

"Gods," she whispered, "more please."

"Aren't you a greedy one," Severus said with a hint of amusement, and he indulged her.

It seemed as if breakfast had been a long time ago, because Hermione was desperate to quell the hunger in her belly. She sat forward and arched her neck to get at the next morsel that Severus offered her, feeling like a goose but also too excited at the prospect of food to care.

"Good girl," Severus said with a grin as she slurped up another slice of scotch egg from his fingers, "You've got quite the healthy appetite. May I persuade you to sit back and relax, and simply let me feed you? You're wasting calories every time you try and snatch food out of my hands."

"Then feed me faster," Hermione replied with a saucy quirk of her eyebrows. "Or maybe you're not up for the challenge of meeting my needs."

"Oh?" he responded, and with a swift motion, he turned and pressed her against the back of the bench, wrapping her up in an intense kiss.

Clearly he'd been sampling the scotch eggs on his way back outside, because he tasted distinctly of sausage and egg himself. And Hermione felt as wet and gooey as an undercooked yolk - golden and oozing beneath Severus' commanding body. She was trapped between his soft, bulky frame, and the cold iron of the bench. And as the wind picked up her loose, bouncy hair, Severus only pressed his lips into her more hungrily. His cloak fluttered in the stiff breeze, and he threw the end over her shoulders haphazardly.

"And what unmet needs do you have, hm?" he asked as he broke away from her, sitting back against the bench, breathing deeply through his nose as he caught his breath. There was a sense of quiet happiness in his eyes as he gazed into her eyes, and Hermione's heart felt giddy.

"I'm still hungry," Hermione said coyly, feeling one of her eyelids involuntarily wink at Severus.

Winking? Hermione Granger, winking? She nearly laughed at herself. Love did strange things to people, she supposed.

Love. Yes, as Hermione watched Severus fuss over the next appetizer on the plate, she remembered that Severus Snape loved her. And while most people wouldn't see how that love emerged, seeping out of him despite his best efforts to conceal it, she saw where his seams were giving way to the emotion. There were subtle signs, she could see, in the way he interacted with her. She felt like he saw her like a treasured potion with which he'd become intimately familiar.

She saw it in the way he selected the next bite of food for her lips to sample - a slice of smoked salmon stuffed with cream cheese and topped with fennel and chives. She saw it in the way he held the nibble in his plump fingers, bringing it up to her waiting mouth with a sense of decorum and delicacy. She saw it in the way he watched her as she chewed and swallowed it, his eyes keen and bright as he assessed his next move.

Yes, there was something bright and experimental in how he attended to her needs, at once calculating and effortless. Nothing was too much for her to ask of him - he would have summoned the moon for her, if she'd wanted it, and he would have done so with the snap of a finger. This, she thought to herself, was what Severus Snape looked like when he was in love. And this made her nearly panic with ecstasy.

Being entrusted with another person's heart, like this, was such an enormous responsibility. Most of the time, she didn't think about it this way - most of the time, she just felt like they were just undergoing the journey of life together. Accompanying each other and making each others' journeys more pleasurable, and more worthwhile.

But sometimes, she was overcome with the sense of wonder and awe that came with loving another person - and seeing that they loved her back. Well, truth be told, she didn't get this feeling often. Particularly with Severus, who by default did his best to pretend nothing extraordinary was happening.

This moment, though, she did feel that sense of enormity, and that bewilderment at fate. How had she been so lucky as to get here, with such a person as Severus? She felt like her life had been muted and grey, but suddenly someone had decided to turn on all the color and sound, and now the vividness of her experience was nearly overwhelming.

Hermione took a deep breath, and she closed her eyes. Juxtaposed on top of her train of thought from mere minutes earlier, feeling like she did nearly made her head spin. Her present reality was so vastly different from the reality she'd imagined for herself, in her childhood days. She realized that this was probably a good thing - she knew her childhood self would have been shocked and confused, had she a vision of Hermione's current configuration.

She felt Severus move closer to her, and she opened her eyes again. Severus was gazing into her eyes, and there was a deep tenderness and vulnerability in the way he was looking at her.

His eyes were shining in the autumn light, and his hair whipped across his face as the wind shifted.

They didn't say anything to each other, instead reading each others' emotions purely on facial expression alone. The trees rattled with the wind, and there was the sound of the air rushing through the remaining leaves still stuck on the trees. The leaves on the ground rose and fell in gentle crescendos and decrescendos, like an army of cicadas on a hot summer evening.

Severus suddenly seemed a little bit sad, and one corner of his mouth was distinctly turned down, though his eyes were warm and loving towards her. Then, he seemed to try and reset whatever train of thought he'd been on, and his eyes widened a bit and his face shifted into a more neutral appearance. He proceeded to close his eyes and press a tender kiss on the corner of her mouth, and then reorganize around his assigned task.

"Try this," he said, picking up a miniature pork pie and offering it to her.

She accepted it gladly, happy for a distraction from the sense of vulnerability they'd shared. She felt a bit naked, as if tainted by original sin, and Severus also seemed a bit abashed, though they really didn't have a reason.

Or, perhaps, maybe they did. Hermione watched as Severus gathered up another scotch egg, this one whole, and broke it in two pieces. He seemed briefly unable to meet her eyes.

Hermione, for her part, gazed steadily at him, willing to accept whatever emotional burden he was packing onto his shoulders. After a moment or two of fidgeting with her food, breaking the egg into unnecessarily small jagged fragments, he offered her part of the egg, and he met her eyes, looking vaguely embarrassed.

"What is it?" she asked softly, and Severus just shook his head. Then, flushing red, he cast his face downwards, and squinted his eyes shut.

"Come on," she murmured, pressing her hand against his shoulder. "What is it?"

"Obtrusive thoughts," Severus answered, his voice low and grumbly, and not in a good way.

"What kind of thoughts?" Hermione asked, and Severus just shook his head. Then, with a deep breath, he raised his head and looked directly into her eyes.

"You can look if you want. I... can't say, It's not good," he said, his chest heaving tightly.

Hermione, ever so gently, pressed into his mind with legilimency, and the sole intent she had in her head was to ease whatever was making him feel so uncomfortable.

He didn't resist, but he seemed to regret it instantly. Severus made an effort to hide what was staining the forefront of his mind, but he wasn't fast enough. Hermione saw an imagined image of him, sitting and feeding scotch egg to an ever-so-slightly plump red-headed girl whose joyful green eyes were exactly like Harry's.

Hermione didn't need to see any more, and she bounced out of Severus' mind with a snap.

Severus looked pale and wan, and his face twisted into one of concern and pain.

"I'm sorry," Severus said, and he glanced down at the ancient weather-worn bricks that lined the path of the garden. He ground the heel of his boot into one of the bricks, as if squashing a bug, but instead he was grinding the surface of the chalky brick into dust.

"It's fine," Hermione said, feeling a little bit sad herself. "It's part of you."

"I wish it wasn't," he responded, his voice tense. He seemed unable to meet her eyes again - and he appeared nearly grief-stricken. "Damn it all to hell," he muttered fiercely, "I've got a particular talent for cocking everything up."

"I don't think so," Hermione said softly, "but even if that's true, it's all right."

It was all right, she felt, but that sense of sadness she had in her heart was growing heavier.

Perhaps this showed on her face, because Severus looked at her, and he shook his head. "No, it's not all right," he said, taking a fortifying breath, staring at the evergreen bushes in front of them. "It's not fair for me to burden you with my problems like this. Problems that have been a part of me since before you were even born. Problems that few other women would tolerate, much less accept."

"Let's not make a drama out of this," Hermione answered, though she felt some relief. It was a tall order for her to calmly accept that he carried around a lost love like Lily in his brain, everywhere, like a cursed locket. Especially when Lily seemed to intrude upon their own private loving moments like this. She was glad that Severus saw how difficult it was for her, no matter how she pretended to absorb it with equanimity. "It's the way your brain functions. You don't have to judge yourself for it."

"I'm trying to reprogram my brain," he answered, "so yes, judging myself is part of that effort."

"Is it working so far?" Hermione asked, and Severus didn't answer. Instead, he stared at the bushes, and the hatred he had in his eyes was so strong that Hermione was surprised the bushes didn't catch fire.

Clearly self-flagellation wasn't working, but Severus was a stubborn soul. If there was an opportunity to punish himself, he seemed unable to pass it up, even when this punishment was not effective at changing his behaviors in the desired fashion. Indeed, Hermione surmised, the punishment itself was a reward - it was predictable, and in that predictability, it was pleasurable. It was pleasurable because it was a way of taking control of the situation, Hermione guessed. No matter how ineffective it was at making the situation better.

So, Hermione decided to be the external voice of forgiveness.

"It's all right," she assured him, and she wrapped her arm around his rounded middle. "I forgive you, on your own behalf."

His eyes widened with surprise, and he raised his head to gaze at her face. He seemed conflicted between anger, relief, and despair.

Ultimately, he didn't seem to come to a conclusion. Instead, he erased all the emotions off his face, and he grimaced with a kind of dispassionate, almost condescending look. But then he kissed her, and there was a renewed spirit of energy and fight in the way his lips embraced hers.

He was broken. He hated himself for it, and he wanted to fix himself completely, as if with magic. But Hermione knew he was deluding himself. He'd always be broken.

But she too was broken - not nearly so much as him, but broken nonetheless.

Their broken parts, fortunately, seemed to complement each others', and Hermione hoped that someday Severus wouldn't hate himself so much for his flaws.

Indeed, his flaws were what made him such an interesting person to love. And to be loved by.

 

........

music: Ingrid Michaelson, "The Chain."  
  
I will 100% admit that the only reason we had a chapter about St. Andrew's day is because I looked up "uk holidays" on google and discovered it. It seems like it was really a fruitful discovery.

Also this chapter is sponsored unofficially by the show, Jane the Virgin. If you like drama and romance and mystery and intrigue and also drama, you should check out the show, Jane the Virgin. I *really* love it, but after a while there's the perennial problem of YOU HAVE 2 GUYS WHO WANT YOU SO WHY NOT HAVE THEM BOTH?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!! I think I literally yelled at the screen "THE ANSWER TO THIS QUESTION IS POLY" a bunch of times. also I watched all of season 1, which is on Netflix, and it's beautiful and amazing and I think it's pretty feminist. I've been impressed more times than I've been disappointed, which is more than I can say for The Mindy Project.


	65. st. andrew's day fiascos

Hermione and Severus soon retreated indoors, for the cold was beginning to get to be too much. The sun was sinking, and their spirits seemed to be following. 

 

As they re-entered the Great Hall, Hermione found herself struggling with resentment, if she was honest with herself. Severus seemed a bit more aloof than he had been before. He'd stuffed her with a full two plates' worth of traditional scotch treats, but his heart seemed to have retreated even deeper into his inner darkness. It was basically inaccessible, no matter how Hermione had tried to wheedle it out again, and his face remained firmly, carefully neutral. 

 

The Great Hall had emptied, aside from Neville and Minerva. Neville was laughing nervously, as was his wont, while McGonagall was thanking him for helping with the dance instruction. 

 

"I'm glad to see that you've made some improvement since the Triwizard Tournament Yule Ball," McGonagall was saying. 

 

"I've just grown a little more accustomed to my big feet," Neville said, and he chuckled into his glass of pumpkin juice. 

 

Then, he noticed Hermione, and the effortless smile ran away from his face, only to be replaced by a more self-conscious one. "Hey, 'Mione," he said, an then corrected himself, seeing as he was in front of the headmistress, "Erm, Professor Granger." 

 

"Good afternoon," Hermione said, drifting into the open space between Neville and McGonagall. "I'm so excited for tonight," she hummed, noticing that Severus was silently slinking away out of the Great Hall, but not before whisking an entire pork pie under his cloak on his way out. "Now, is it just me, or are there more parties than there were when I was a student?" 

 

"You're not wrong," Minerva said, and she sighed. "I admit that, in my tenure as headmistress, I've made a special effort to try and... liven up the students' lives. Albus, bless his old doddering soul, let a great deal of these sorts of social things drop by the wayside, so to speak. Granted, he was fighting wars, but even when he wasn't, he had... other priorities that engaged his attention." 

 

"Now that you're in charge," Neville said with a slightly jaunty air, "you're making up for lost time?" 

 

"That is not my goal, precisely," McGonagall said, and she sighed, and summoned a chair from the head table for her to sit upon. "It's more that I see so many of our students don't have as much to celebrate as they once did, and these events are a welcome distraction. Families are broken. War has ravaged the lives of all of us, in one way or another. But we persevered, and we won, though by the skin of our teeth. Every day we live outside the shadow of tyranny is a day to celebrate. And that, my dears, is something we ought never let our students forget.

 

"And on that note," McGonagall said, "Celebration need not be a grand and overdone gesture. It can be small, casual, and effortless. If all we know of joyous events are ostentatious efforts like the Yule Ball or Triwizard Tournament, then it becomes harder to appreciate the simple kindnesses and beauties of our daily lives." 

 

Hermione's mind went back to Severus and what he'd said a few months back - “I see the entire rest of my life as a special occasion. I almost didn’t have one.”  At the time, she'd thought that this sentiment was one that was unique to Severus. Perhaps it wasn't such a lonely thought after all. 

 

As Hermione looked at McGonagall, she saw how weary the older woman appeared. It was not dissimilar from the sense of survivor's guilt that Severus endured. 

 

The headmistress' words seemed to hit close to Neville's heart too, Hermione realized as she glanced at her other boyfriend. (Was he her boyfriend? She was fairly sure that was right, but she realized she needed to specifically talk with him about it.) Neville appeared very solemn, and he was nodding up and down like a Muggle bobblehead. 

 

"Are you busy during the break?" Hermione asked him, as McGonagall closed her eyes and seemed to retreat from the conversation. 

 

"I don't believe so," Neville said, and Hermione grasped his hand and dragged him over to the refreshments table. 

 

"How hungry are you?" she asked him as she sat him down in a chair and fussed over a plate for him. 

 

"A bit," he admitted, "But not so much. I don't want to be sick." 

 

"You won't be sick," Hermione said, "you've been prancing around doing reels for over an hour. You've got to do your best to keep your strength up." 

 

"Fine," he said with a good-natured grumble, "but nothing too heavy, please." 

 

She proceeded to gather up some edibles for him, mostly biscuits and crackers, and then she plunked down the lightly loaded plate into his hands. "Eat what you can," she urged him, taking up a plate for herself, "and don't stuff yourself too much." 

 

She was counting on reverse psychology, as she went about the table fixing herself a substantially heavier plate of treats. After loading up on the appetizers, cleaning out a few of the dishes from the table, she sat down beside Neville and began to tear through the delicious-looking heavier foods on her own plate. 

 

Neville ate a few crackers with cheese, but he was looking hungrily at Hermione's vegetarian haggis and whiskey-glazed pearl onions. 

 

Hermione did her best to ignore him for several long minutes, until he got up the courage to ask, "Erm, 'Mione, can I try that?" 

 

"Of course, my dear," she said indulgently, and she plopped down the tiniest morsel of salmon on his plate. 

 

"Erm," Neville said, a little bit sadly, "what about some of that?" He gestured with his fork at the vegetarian haggis. 

 

"Fine," Hermione said, rolling her eyes, "but not too much. It's a bit on the heavy side, and you don't want to get sick, you said." 

 

"That's all right," Neville answered with a hint of amusement. He'd figured out what she was doing, and he was playing along now. He took a forkful of the fake meat, and he chewed slowly and swallowed. Clearly he was wanting a bit more, but out of a sense of reservation, he went on, "And how about a spot of that pork pie?" 

 

"That's the last bit of pork pie in the castle," Hermione answered stubbornly, "So if you want some, you'd better make it count." 

 

"I will, 'Mione," Neville answered. "I swear I will." 

 

"Good," Hermione answered, and she turned her chair to face him, extending her plate towards him. "Prove it." 

 

Neville seemed to gird his loins, and then he attacked that pie with conviction. It was a nice heavy slice - okay, perhaps it actually was three whole servings' worth in a single slice, a full third of an entire pie, but Hermione wasn't inclined to skimp on her own plate. Especially when she was putting on a show for Neville. 

 

The crust of the pie was flaky and buttery, and every bite was soft and savory. She couldn't help but sneak a bite once in a while, just because it was so delicious, but for the most part it was Neville who accomplished the task of eating the whole damn thing. 

 

Afterwards, he looked quite satiated - indeed, once he had another glass of pumpkin juice, his tum was bloating into a nice round convex shape. But Hermione wasn't done with him. 

 

"Well, you proved it," Hermione said as she sat back, resting a hand on top of her own soft tum. "But you look like you have a bit of room still." 

 

"I could do with a top-off," Neville answered, and hiccuped as if to punctuate his point. 

 

She laughed softly, and she let him confiscate the delicious morsels she hadn't yet cleaned off her plate until he placed a hand over his mouth and shook his head, looking a bit overstuffed and queasy. 

 

"Mmm," Hermione said, and she glanced around the empty Great Hall. McGonagall seemed to have left, and it was just the two of them there, sitting in the pregnant silence. "Here." 

 

She moved her chair closer to him, and she began to rub his distended, overstuffed tum. 

 

"Oh gods," Neville murmured, and he moaned. "Oh, 'Mione. That feels so good." 

 

"I know," Hermione said, feeling a rush of pleasure as Neville expressed his appreciation. On her own part, she enjoyed the stiff feeling of Neville's taut belly under her fingers. But the thing that truly made it incomprehensibly sexy was the way he enjoyed the sensations, too. "I know exactly how you feel, Neville," she purred, feeling the way her fingers sunk into the very thin layer of rubbery fat that coated his body. "Stuffing yourself until you have no more room left, and getting massaged all around the tum - it's one of my favorite feelings, and one I'm pleased to share with you." 

 

"Ohh," Neville answered, and it seemed like he wasn't really able to listen - his eyes were closed, and his mouth was open. He seemed utterly relaxed, and it was a very comfortable feeling to realize that it was her, and her alone, who had brought him to this place of pleasure. 

 

Ah, and Hermione spied something else happening below Neville's widening tum, too - though it was obscured by his teaching robes, Hermione saw the hint of an erection distinctly pushing against his pants. 

 

"Are you able to move?" Hermione asked, and she found her hand resting on Neville's thigh. His cock, hidden though it was under layers of fabric, twitched aggressively. 

 

While this wasn't the first time she'd seen Neville aroused, this was the first time they'd been in a situation where Hermione could actually *do* anything about it. Most of the time, they shared breakfast, which meant they both had to rush to their classes instead of taking care of business. 

 

There was a *lot* of pent-up horniness for Neville in Hermione's body, and now, as they sat in the otherwise silent Great Hall, the lust was too strong and too undeniable to ignore. 

 

"In a minute," Neville choked, and he took some deep, gasping breaths. Then, with great effort, he stumbled to his feet. "Okay," he said, sounding a bit drunk on the amount of food he'd consumed, "what are we doing?" 

 

"Come," Hermione said, and grasped his hand. "Let's find a broom closet." 

 

She proceeded to whisk him out of the Great Hall, and he stumbled behind her with enthused confusion. 

 

............ 

 

Soon enough, a broom closet was secured, and Hermione had locked them safely inside with a glowing orange lumens for light. 

 

"Oh gods," Neville said, practically tearing her hair out as he clumsily, desperately, began to kiss her. 

 

She felt her entire body shaking with adrenaline, fear, and nervousness, even as her lust kept on driving her onwards. 

 

Neville and Hermione had never had sex, and now, she realized, she was ready to go that far with him. 

 

She wasn't entirely sure what had moved her into this brainspace, but she wasn't questioning it now. 

 

"Take off your shirt," Hermione said breathlessly between kisses, "and your trousers." 

 

"Okay," Neville said, as compliant and agreeable as he'd been while dancing with the headmistress, and after some clumsiness in removing his belt and undoing his buttons, soon enough he was in nothing but his underpants, shivering against the cold darkness of the closet. 

 

His belly was lined with stretch marks, demonstrating that he'd made progress on his goal of getting back some of his old weight. He hadn't even remotely come close to the soft, comfortable chubbiness he'd once boasted, but he was recognize-ably thicker than he had been at the beginning of term. Hermione was satisfied with this - for the moment. 

 

"How much are you carrying around these days?" Hermione asked, getting onto her knees and pressing her face into his tum. It wasn't as easy to enjoy him as it was for her to sink into Severus' softness - Neville was almost half a foot shorter than Severus. But she made it work. 

 

"I weigh in around a hundred and fifty," Neville responded, and he sighed. "Though of course, that's on an empty stomach." 

 

"That's good," Hermione said, and pressed her fingers into Neville's too-tight stomach. "Not good enough, but it's far better than you were." 

 

"Yeah," Neville said, and his hands grasped at Hermione's, and he held her hands still, flat against his tum. "I've put on about twenty pounds since we started." 

 

Hermione assessed him critically. "You're kidding." 

 

"No," Neville responded, looking a bit hurt at the suggestion. "I'm not." 

 

"Oh wow," Hermione said, and took a breath as she did some mental calculations. "That's almost a pound a day, Neville." 

 

Neville nodded, drinking in the fact. "Is that fast? I don't really know. I've always tended to gain weight easily, so it's not... that surprising. And I was barely eating at all at the beginning of November." 

 

Hermione didn't have a response other than an immense grin. "Well, I'm glad that you're getting several square meals a day." 

 

"So am I... I suppose," Neville said, and sighed. 

 

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, sitting down on the floor. 

 

Neville kicked a dustpan out of the way and sat down next to her. "I... I just..." 

 

He sighed again, and began to pick at the rim of his sock, worrying a loose string. "I just don't know if I want to get bigger, 'Mione. I know what you say, about liking more 'substantial' men, but... I'm not sure that I want to be substantial." 

 

"That's... okay," Hermione answered. Ah, well, she knew this arrangement was too good to be true. She immediately began to worry if she'd pushed Neville too much to get to this point, and she began to review her discussions with him on the subject. "I'm sorry, did I push you too much?" she asked, and a lump of worry began to grow in her throat. 

 

"No!" Neville said, and there was a vehemence in his voice that made her feel somewhat better. Though at the same time, she worried that he might be lying to placate her feelings. "No, 'Mione. It's not like that. I just... well... I've always been the fat kid," he said, and he drew his legs up and held onto them, rocking back and forth slightly. "Being the fat kid isn't fun. It means people make fun of you. It means people underestimate you, sometimes even hold you back for a lark."

 

"I'm so sorry," Hermione said, feeling overwhelmed with the knowledge that she'd put Neville in a position where he was re-visiting these feelings. "I know it's hard." 

 

"It was," Neville said, "and it's... also hard for me to say this now, too, because I realize you'll probably want to dump me now. But I want to tell you that it  was... really, really nice, to be told to eat, for once. I've never had that in my life, ever. I've always been told to stop eating. So having the opposite, for once... it was exhilarating." 

 

"Who said I want to dump you?" Hermione asked, a frown on her face. "From the sound of this, I assumed *you* wanted to dump *me.*"    

 

"No!" Neville said, and he glanced up. There was something a little bit hopeful in his eyes that hadn't been there a moment ago. "I don't think I could dump you, Hermione. You're too... amazing." 

 

"Well," Hermione said, "that's a bit of a problem. Neville, if you think someone is so shallow as to dump you because of decisions that *you* make about *your* body, then that person doesn't sound very amazing to me." 

 

"I didn't mean it that way," Neville said, and closed his eyes against the situation. He seemed to be growing more anxious, and he buried his head between his knees. "I didn't mean it that way." 

 

"Okay," Hermione said comfortingly, and she took a deep breath and leaned against the wall of the broom closet. So much for having sex for the first time. "So, what do you want to do, Neville?" 

 

"I don't know," Neville said, and sighed. "I mean..." 

 

He seemed to wilt under her scrutiny. "I don't know if you want to hear about it." 

 

"I do," said Hermione, "if it's relevant to this conversation." 

 

"It's sort-of relevant," Neville replied, and he moved closer to Hermione, though he kept a safe distance from her, not touching her at all. "Luna's coming back home soon. In the summer." 

 

"That's a surprise," Hermione said, though she wasn't surprised at all. From what Neville had told her, Luna (while out of the country) seemed not to exactly understand that she and Neville had broken up. And, Hermione suspected, Neville hadn't exactly mentioned his unconventional arrangement with Hermione in his letters to Luna. 

 

Now granted, Luna was the least conventional person that Hermione could think of - considering her unusual ideas about flora and fauna - but did that mean Luna would excuse Neville's pursuit of another woman while Luna were out of the country? Hermione wasn't sure. 

 

"So what do you want to do about it?" Hermione asked, and she knew the answer was probably going to be: end things between them two. 

 

"I don't know," Neville said, and sighed. "I mean, she's still out of the country. I'd like for... this, with you and me... to continue as long as we can." 

 

"That's a surprise," Hermione said again, before she could stop herself. "I mean," she added, as Neville began to look at her in confusion, "I'm glad, I'm just surprised that you're considering that as an option." 

 

"The thing is," Neville said staunchly, "we broke it off. Just because it hasn't gotten into her thick noggin doesn't mean it didn't happen. So I'm free to do whatever I like, basically. If she comes back, I guess we'll pick up where we left off, but if she doesn't, well, too bad." 

 

"Okay," Hermione said, and nodded. "So if she comes back in the summer, and if she wants to get back together with you, then we'll stop this." 

 

"Exactly," Neville said with a sigh of relief. "And besides, it won't wreck your world. You'll still have Snape."

 

"Don't say it like that," Hermione said, feeling a bit odd at the way he'd phrased the sentiment. "If we do end then, I will be sad. It's not like this isn't important or meaningful to me, Neville." 

 

"Yeah, well," Neville said with a puppydog sadness, and his eyes focused on her intently. "I know I'm just a side piece for you." 

 

"That's not how it is at all!" Hermione exclaimed. 

 

"Well," Neville said, and Hermione saw that there was a bit of anger deep underneath Neville's persona. "What is it, then?" 

 

"You're my friend, first and foremost," Hermione said, "and we're also dating. Aren't we?" 

 

"Dating?" Neville asked, and frowned. "Is this dating? I mean, I genuinely don't know," he said, and there was a bit of scorn in his voice. He stood up, and began to put on his trousers. "It's not what I'd call dating." 

 

"What is dating, then, for you?" Hermione asked. She had to bite her tongue to keep herself from saying things as hurtful as he was hurling at her. As it was, she felt a little bit of venom in her voice, but she repeated herself, with a bit more patience, "Tell me, what do you need for a dating relationship?" 

 

Neville pulled his shirt over his head, and sat back down again. There was a numbness in his eyes, as he seemed to be thinking about his relationship with Luna. "I don't know," he mumbled, "just, something different from whatever this is." 

 

Hermione began to realize what was happening here. "It seems like... I can't give you what you need in a dating relationship," Hermione said, and sighed. "So, do you want to continue doing whatever it is we're doing?" 

 

"Yes," Neville said, "At least, until something else happens." 

 

"What kind of something?" Hermione asked, purely for clarification. She could read the writing on the wall - Neville was just too monogamous at heart, and this was just going to end up badly for everyone concerned. 

 

"Luna and me getting back together," Neville said softly, and added, "Or, I guess, someone else and me getting together." 

 

"Okay," Hermione said, and sighed. "I am of two minds about this." 

 

"Okay," Neville responded, and he looked somewhat defeated. "Tell me?" 

 

"So the first thing is," Hermione said, "I'm happy to continue this on a conditional basis until you find someone who meets your needs better, and then fade away in the background as desired. That's no problem for me, Neville, and I want you to really understand that. But my intuition tells me that this won't be good enough." 

 

She sighed. She realized she was about to detonate their current relationship, and she was immensely sad at the prospect. But it had to be done. 

 

"My intuition tells me," she concluded, "that you're just using me as a stopgap to help your loneliness. I'm fine with this - but I also know that you want more from me than what I can give. And I'm worried that if we proceed further with this relationship, I'll just end up disappointing you." 

 

Neville's head was hanging. Hermione read this as confirmation that what she was saying was true. 

 

"So I need you to think hard about what you want, Neville," Hermione said, and she already knew what he wanted, and oh dear everything she was saying was a waste of breath, but she had to say it because she'd already started. "Are you going to be content with what I can give you, until you find something else that meets your needs better? Or is it going to be too painful for you? And will it make it harder to find someone who can meet those needs adequately?" 

 

Neville was quiet for several minutes, and Hermione was beginning to wonder if he'd heard when she finally saw him take a deep, shuddering breath. 

 

"I think you're right, 'Mione. Whenever I see you with Snape, I just... I just get so full of rage. You deserve so much better," he said, and he began to cover his face in his hands. "I know you don't think so, but I know so. Snape is the closest thing to evil that I know, other than Voldemort. I don't know how much you know about what happened at Godric's Hollow the night James and Lily Potter died, but Harry's told me enough. And Harry and I bet, if Snape'd had a chance to do over what happened at Godric's Hollow, he'd have killed me and my parents." 

 

"Wait," Hermione said, and found her throat tightening. "You've talked to Harry recently?" 

 

"Yeah," Neville said, and he stared Hermione straight in the eyes. "And he's way, way weirded out about your relationship with Snape."

 

"So that's why he hasn't answered my messages," Hermione said thoughtfully, and she bowed her face and pinched the bridge of her nose. It was something that Severus did, she realized as she was mid-gesture, but it felt like the right thing to do. "I assumed it was just about Ron." 

 

"I mean, it started with Ron," Neville said, "but he was starting to come around on that - until he learned about what you were doing with Snape." 

 

"And how did he know, exactly?" Hermione asked, feeling deeply betrayed. She tried to collect her thoughts, but her brain was spinning. 

 

"I mean, I told him," Neville said. It was clear that he knew this was a ruinous thing - he was hanging his head in shame. "I'm... I'm sorry, 'Mione. I thought he must've known." 

 

"Yeah," Hermione said, and stood up, shakily. "Well, I thought he loved Snape. So forgive me if I'm surprised." 

 

"I mean, the fact that Snape didn't actually *die* changes things a bit," Neville said, adding, "He's such a slimy git, 'Mione. Why do you trust him, after everything he's done?"  

 

Hermione didn't have an answer for him - at least not an answer that Neville would accept. 

 

"This is the dark side of Gryffindor," she said aloud, though it was more to herself than Neville. A little louder, she said, "All right, Neville. You win. We're broken up." 

 

"Really?" Neville said, standing to his feet. There was an unexpected joy in his voice. 

 

"Erm, I think you misunderstand," Hermione said, turning and glaring at the man. "You and I. *We* are broken up." 

 

"Oh," Neville said, and he deflated rapidly. "Okay." 

 

"Sorry," Hermione said, not really meaning it, and she grabbed her wand, put out the lumens, and barged out the door, leaving Neville alone in the darkness. 

 

 

 

 

................. 

hey folks! I know I just gave you a lot to chew on, but please, please review!!!!! don't forget please!!!!!!! 

 

also kudos to the reader who told me via PM "Thank you for your writing; you've made something that is very important." I'm still floating from this. :) 


	66. rubatosis: pleasure in the library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rubatosis: n. the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat

Hermione was feeling several things. 

A. Today was a crap, crap day. Holiday indeed - both of her boyfriends had demonstrated to her, in different ways, that her company was not the company they preferred. Of course, with Severus this was hardly a surprise, but as Hermione thought about it, she was deeply pained by the incident in the garden. 

B. Severus had retreated into his inner shadows, and she'd left Neville in the literal shadows. Neither was particularly accessible at this point, and she didn't feel inclined to chase either one of them down for emotional comfort.

C. Both gentlemen had sexually teased her but then not delivered - and as a result, she was painfully horny. She'd been horny all day, and those pent-up emotions hadn't yet had an outlet despite having two boyfriends, up until the past few minutes. 

She briefly considered how interesting it was, that not having that sexual release caused such a tangible effect on her emotions. She'd never heard anyone talk about that. Was she the only person who felt that way? Probably not. Women weren't expected to have sexual feelings, much less feel bad when those feelings weren't fulfilled in a timely manner. 

She thought about going upstairs and crying in Severus' arms. But the way she'd left him earlier, she expected that the last thing he wanted was to comfort her about her failed attempt at romance with Neville. 

There wasn't really anyone else in the castle who was a good option to talk to about this, unfortunately. 

She ducked into an abandoned classroom and tried to floo-call Ron, but he wasn't home. 

In the end, she decided she should just go to the library. No one would be there, other than Madam Pince. And as long as Hermione was quiet and didn't overtly scribble in the margins, Hermione expected it would be quiet and peaceful there. 

So Hermione went straight to the library - her favorite place of refuge. Granted, it did pain her that the last time she'd come to the library was when she saw Neville falling asleep over his classroom prep. But the Hogwarts library was a big place, and there was no reason she had to be anywhere near the site of the incident. 

As predicted, the place was quiet - pristine, actually. There was no one in sight, actually. The magical librarian included. 

Oh, sweet mystery of life, she'd found it. 

Except that for some reason, as she nestled herself in the potions section, she found herself completely unable to read. The silence - usually so sweet a balm to her ears - was nearly deafening. She found herself restless and fidgeting, changing positions in her chair a thousand times, sensitive to every crick in her back and neck. 

At first she was mystified by this, but then she remembered that she was horny - and she knew as soon as she got some release, she'd feel loads better, and be able to focus. 

She considered leaving the library to take care of the task, but she didn't precisely relish the idea of taking care of her issue in the closest bathroom, lest she be mistaken for Moaning Myrtle. Briefly, she flirted with the idea of doing it right there, behind the stacks she'd built around her. Then, as the silence continued to seduce her, she decided that her five minutes' worth of physical effort would definitely go unnoticed - she'd been tossing and turning thinking about getting herself off in the library without seeing a soul for nearly an hour. 

So, without further ado, she sat down upon the floor, arranged a castle of books around her, and for good measure, she cast a chameleon spell on herself. Then, she began to pleasure herself with her fingers. 

The pleasure she felt as she lay down there on the floor and finally began addressing her physical need, after so many hours of putting it off... well, it was wondrous. Her breath was short and her fingers were quick, and made swift work of stimulating her clit to a perfect frenzy. Now, all she needed was some mental stimulation and she'd be perfect.

She closed her eyes, and thought of Severus. Or at least, she tried to. But the feelings she had about him right now were somewhat complicated by her lingering feelings of resentment regarding the emotional labor she'd had to complete with him this morning. 

She didn't dare think of Neville. She was too hurt and angry about that, right now. 

Indeed, as she flipped through her mental rolladex, she kept coming up with blanks. Erika was a less complicated option, but Hermione couldn't picture the girl's face. Ron in his pudgier times, in a cute sweater... usually that worked for her, at least prior to this past August when she'd met Severus again. Harry? Ergh, Hermione hadn't been able to get turned on by Harry in years, unless she imagined him as a plump girl, and that was also far more complicated than it was worth. 

Realizing that her stress levels were rising in a distinctly unsexy way, she took a moment to try and compose her mind, and not try and force a fantasy. Happily, one emerged as soon as she had dismissed all the unproductive ideas she'd generated. 

She imagined she was walking through the library, and was flipping through the restricted section - as was her teacherly prerogative. But as she browsed, she pulled out a book with a crimson velvet cover, as soft as a rose petal... and she found herself falling through the stacks. 

Once she found her bearings again, she realized she was in a beautiful room of the library that she'd never seen before. Like the rest of the Hogwarts library, there were books stacked to the ceiling. But unlike the rest of the library, the room was a strange shape, somewhat like a venn diagram with a very narrow midsection and two large, petal-like outer sections. The place was carpeted with thick, lush red carpeting that begged to be walked upon in bare feet. Instead of the usual antiquated chairs and tables, there were velvet chaise lounges and armchairs with soft pillowed ottomans. There was a coat rack with an array of beautiful silk housecoats, all different colors and styles, and lined on the floor below were little velvet slippers that looked both dainty and comfortable. 

And as far as other decor went, it was sparse but elegant: marble grecian statues of naked women, in various poses varying from the sexual to the romantic. 

There was nothing in the room that even vaguely hinted at maleness or the masculine gaze. And Hermione found herself laying upon one of the beckoning fainting couches, where she found a dildo exactly like the favorite one she had in her flat when she was working for the ministry. 

Given that it was a fantasy, Hermione let herself completely give way to her pleasures there in that strange and unusual room. As her fingers moved, beautiful cello and violin music played, surrounding her with crescendos and decrescendos that perfectly harmonized with her own body's rhythm. 

Then, she heard a noise (in her fantasy) and she paused, in shock, in order to see who was coming in on her. She tried to hide the evidence of what she was doing with a silk robe, but was too slow. Madam Pince, the librarian, had entered the room, and her eyes were pinned to Hermione like a hawk approaching its prey. 

"Please, Madam Pince," whimpered Hermione, "please." 

Madam Pince didn't say anything - instead she just walked around the chaise lounge upon which Hermione had thrown herself, and she stared with blank, unreadable eyes. 

Madam Pince in fantasy didn't look the same as Madam Pince in reality, as it happened. Of course, she was the same in terms of her physical attributes - skinny as a rail, without comely bosoms or buttocks - but her older body was lithe and supple, and of course given that this was a fantasy, she had walked into the room completely naked, aside from her wand and her glasses. 

And Hermione waited for Madam Pince in the fantasy to start shrieking - but the shrieking didn't come. Instead, Madam Pince got down on her knees and, a supercilious smirk on her face, she pointed her wand at Hermione's crotch and whispered a spell. 

The resulting charm was heavenly, and Hermione felt as if her entire body was going to explode with the pleasure she experienced. It was like all the best seasons at once, mingled together in a heady potion like amortentia, but five thousand times more powerful. 

In real life, it was then that Hermione finally got her release, and she found herself moaning despite herself. She opened her eyes and clasped her hand over her mouth to mute the sound of her heavy breathing. 

It actually spooked her, to open her eyes and see the stacks of books towering above her as she lay upon the dusty floor. The orgasm she'd felt was sticky between her legs, and she needed a good 'nother two or so, but she listened with attentive ears and didn't move. 

Something had changed in the dark section of the library she was in. The silence wasn't the same anymore. There was the faintest, faintest sense of someone else being there, listening. 

Hermione lay stock still for several minutes, simply listening back, and then she decided she must be mistaken. There wasn't anyone else in this part of the library with her - and even if there were, she hadn't been discovered (from what she could tell). 

So, she got up, and she moved, and she brushed off the dust from her dress and ignored the stickiness and the urgent need for more stimulation between her legs, and she tried to get back to reading. But she couldn't shake the feeling that there was someone else there with her, somewhere close at hand. 

It was disconcerting, but she managed to ignore it until she forgot about it. Instead, she read for another two or three hours, until she completed what objectives she'd set for herself, and she got up to leave. 

As she walked out of the potions section, she was walking past a dark corner, and as she stepped past it, she nearly yelped aloud. 

"Madam Pince," she said, and her heart was hammering so fast she felt like she could nearly feel it, "You gave me a fright!" 

The librarian was sitting very still. She had a journal and quill in front of her, and her eyes were latched onto Hermione with a silent, critical gaze. 

"I..." Hermione began to say, but then she realized that anything she might say at this moment would be either damning or look foolish. She decided to ignore her instincts, and instead she stared back at the librarian. 

Madam Pince, it must be noted, was dressed in a very beautiful dress. Hermione wasn't generally the sort of person who noticed other women's fashion sense, but in this particular instance, it was unforgettable. Madam Pince's dress robes were of a dark indigo, scattered with silver embroidered stars that seemed to shimmer even as she sat perfectly still, like the night sky. No wonder Hermione had scarcely noticed the woman. 

Her dark hair, flocked with strands of grey, was pulled up in a bun, and her long angular neck reminded Hermione of a graceful swan. The way she peered from behind her glasses also contributed to the impression she gave of a bird. 

And, Hermione realized, if Severus and Madam Pince were Muggles who had government issued driver's licenses, they could pass very well for each other, aside from their weights. Though somehow they looked nothing in common, even back when Severus was as lean as a greyhound. They both had long, dark hair, dark penetrating eyes, and a wistful slenderness. 

But Severus had an unmistakable roughness around the edges that Madam Pince simply did not. She was the very essence of elegance down through her bones, and this elegance was carefully maintained through fragile treatment and isolation, while for Severus it was only skin-deep and he had cultivated it as a flexible and complex art. 

In any case, Hermione stared at Madam Pince, and as the librarian squarely stared at Hermione, Hermione knew she wouldn't win the battle of silence. The librarian was far better practiced at the art of listening than Hermione would ever be. 

Knowing she was outclassed, Hermione broke the silence. 

"Have you been here long?" she asked, feeling a rush of redness hitting her cheeks. She hoped it was too dark for Madam Pince to see. 

The librarian moved her lips carefully, as if practicing to make sure she knew the words to whatever she was going to say. Then, the librarian managed to get out some words, though they were very quiet. 

"Next time," the librarian said, "ask, and I will help you find what you need." 

Hermione frowned, trying to understand if she heard right. "What?" she ended up asking, feeling as bewildered as a Hobbit being told to go on a quest. 

"Next time," Madam Pince said, just as quietly as the first time, in a sotto voce just barely above a whisper, "ask, and I will help you find what you need." 

"Are you saying I'm banned from the library?" asked Hermione, and she felt her entire body begin to quiver with trepidation. 

The librarian, not breaking eye contact for a moment, simply shook her head in the negative. 

"Then what are you saying?" Hermione said, trying to calm herself but failing miserably. She put her hand on the table and leaned on it gently, lowering her ear closer to the librarian so as to hear her better. 

Hermione was shocked when Madam Pince grabbed at her necklace and pulled her head down even closer, so that Hermione's ear was directly positioned at the librarian's mouth. 

"You may be a scribbler," the librarian whispered hotly into Hermione's ear, "but, truth be told, I like scribblers. You always scream so prettily." 

Then, as suddenly as she'd grappled Hermione, the librarian let go, and Hermione nearly fell face first onto the table. 

"Wait," Hermione asked, feeling her face grow white with fear, "scribblers... scream?" 

"And they also ask far too many questions," the librarian drawled, and she slammed her journal shut. Then, from underneath the expensive leatherbound volume, she retrieved two envelopes of expensive linen paper. With a practiced, elegant hand, she extended them to Hermione. 

Hermione was going to ask what the envelopes contained, but then she realized that'd be another question, and she was a bit self-conscious about that particular habit at the moment. 

All she could manage for the moment was to look at the envelopes. Both were labelled with a florid Edwardian print, and one was addressed to Severus. And one was addressed to Hermione. 

Hermione couldn't help but stand there and open the envelope. She was somewhat dubious of its contents, but her curiosity overwhelmed her caution. 

"So tactless," Hermione heard the librarian mutter, and the older woman rose with an air of pompous dignity and the scent of heavy rose perfume and strode off into the darkness of the library, her heeled boots clacking ever so gently on the hardwood floors. 

This didn't bother Hermione in the slightest - as soon as Madam Pince was out of eyesight, she felt her pulse regain its normal rate, thank goodness - and she examined the paper that had been inside the envelope. 

"Madam Irma Pince requests the pleasure of your company on December the twenty-second for an unconventional celebration of the winter solstice. Please meet on the seventh floor at the hour of seven in formal attire, and wear no more than (and no less than!) seven items of clothing - jewelry included. Invitation-holders only, no guests. This is a private event, and please do not talk about the existence of this event with others who do not hold an invitation. Bring that with which you were born, and expect to leave with little else, aside from beautiful memories. If you do not wish to attend, please return this invitation; if I do not receive your response, I will assume you will be in attendance. Refreshments will be provided. Kind regards, Irma Pince." 

Hermione's pulse quickened again as she re-read the invitation. 

This was certainly the strangest denouement possible - and she still didn't know for sure if the librarian had heard her masturbating. 

But that certainly seemed like a less puzzling question than: how would she respond to this? 

 

................

Music: Pieces (3) For Cello & Piano, Op 64 by Popper, David


	67. about that invitation...

Severus opened the door of his flat without a word, but he looked apologetic and conciliatory. Hermione fell into his arms and gave him a long embrace. 

"Where have you been?" he asked, as she leaned on him in relief, "or should I not ask?" 

"Don't ask," Hermione said, and kissed him sweetly. "And I'm not going to the dance tonight." 

"That's all right," he said, kissing her back, "I'm not much in the mood myself." 

...........

She wept in Severus' arms that night, though she didn't tell him why. He listened silently, stroking her hair and kissing her tenderly. And he didn't ask any questions, but he did treat her with more than his usual kindness. 

It seemed she didn't need to tell him about what happened with Neville. She was glad. She didn't want to talk about it, mostly because she felt that she'd been stupid, and that this was inevitable, and she should have known better than to try with her former classmate. 

...........

The next morning, Hermione woke up to the smell of sweetness in the air, and the scent of flavored coffee. 

"Happy December," Hermione said, rolling over to look at Severus. He was already dressed, not a hair out of place, and he lay next to her, reading from a potions journal. 

"Good morning," he responded, the faintest hint of a smile on his face, and he laid down the journal he'd been reading and took off his glasses. "Would you like a spot of breakfast?" 

"Yes, please," Hermione enthused, and soon enough she had a steaming mug of milky, sweet coffee tucked between her hands. She sipped it slowly, savoring the flavor of hazelnut and relishing the beauty of the sun streaming through the glass window. "That's wonderful." 

"Thanks," Severus said, and poured himself a cup as well. He took it black, with several lumps of sugar, and he seemed to also enjoy it in a very visceral way. "I thought you might like something a bit more robust than tea, this morning." 

"Yes," Hermione responded, and leaned forward to press a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you."

"You're certainly welcome," Severus said in a charming voice, and as Hermione took another sip of the wonderful brew, he added, "It's a blend I concocted on my own, whilst playing Muggle in the States." 

"I should have known," Hermione responded kindly, and she appreciated the warm beverage just slightly more. There was something wonderful about this morning, so wonderful she knew this must be a precursor to something else. 

"So I would like to apologize," he said, as she gazed absently out the window at the blue Saturday sky. "Yesterday-" 

"-No," Hermione said, and raised one of her cozy-warm fingers to meet Severus' lips. "No apologies. You are what you are, and you never need to apologize for that." 

He kissed her finger deliberately, lovingly, and gratefully. "I understand," he rumbled, sounding as if he were not entirely convinced, but accepting at face value for the present moment. "Still, I know that you felt shitty, yesterday, and I wish I could have prevented that better." 

"Again," Hermione said, laying down her coffee on the table and scooting her butt, still covered in the cozy duvet, so that she was closer to Severus. She drew her arms around him. "I know you felt shitty, yesterday, too, and I wish I could have prevented that better. But you are what you are, and I am what I am, and I won't apologize for that. I was sad and somewhat resentful, if I must tell you the truth, but I don't feel that way now." 

Severus responded to Hermione's embrace warmly, and he tilted his head and gave her a crooked, sad smile. "I don't deserve you." 

"Does anyone deserve anything?" Hermione responded cheerfully, and she patted him playfully on the tummy as she leaned over and grabbed her coffee. "Well, perhaps I deserve this coffee. It's so deliciously fragrant, and unlike most flavored coffee, the taste isn't an anticlimax." 

"It tastes like it smells," agreed Severus, "and that was indeed the point of designing it. I decided to concoct it after Erika made the observation that many flavored coffees are... disappointing." 

"Well," Hermione said, and smiled broadly, "I love it. And I love you. And while I have a lot of work to complete, I do fully intend to spend as much time with you as I possibly can today." 

"I concur," Severus responded. He nodded and sipped his coffee. "In theory, it snowed last night." 

"First snow of the season?" Hermione asked, and as she finished absorbing the first half of her cup, she looked around for the aforementioned breakfast. 

"So it would seem," responded Severus easily. He got himself up and seized a teatray from the sidetable, and presented it to Hermione, laying it carefully across her lap. "There's jam, toast, sausage, egg, and bacon. And there are vanilla scones in the oven," he added, sounding just slightly desperate for her approval. 

"That sounds wonderful," Hermione said, and lifted the charms that kept the food hot. The smells of warm breakfast emanated from the food, and Hermione looked at Severus. "Is this enough for both of us?" 

"Trust me," Severus said, "I've eaten more than my fair share this morning, while cooking." Still, even as he said this, he stole a fork from the side of her plate and deprived her of one sausage. It was one out of five large, plump sausages, so there was plenty to share. 

"It seems like you would benefit from my scraps, however," Hermione said with a grin, laying a kiss on his soft cheek and squeezing his buttery fat lovehandle with the greatest of affection. "Wouldn't want you to waste into nothing." 

"Little danger of that," Severus answered good-humoredly, and he joyfully bit into the hot sausage. 

They sat in relative quiet as Hermione worked her way through the meal, serving Severus tidbits off her plate as suited her whim. Soon, she was replete and overfull, and she leaned back on the headboard as Severus poured her another mug of coffee. 

"That was sweet of you, to make breakfast," Hermione said dreamily as Severus moved the tray back to the side table. He kissed the top of her head. 

"That was sweet of you, to forgive me," he answered, and Hermione didn't have any response for that. She just cuddled closer to him, and enjoyed him as he breathed in and out with heavy breaths, struggling to digest the massive amounts he'd tucked away. 

Time seemed to simultaneously lengthen and disappear, as they lounged there in the bed. Hermione was sensitive to every second that the clock counted, and she felt enormously satisfied with how she was spending those seconds, pressed up against the soft flesh of her beautiful lover. 

But at the same time, she was acutely aware of the loss of those seconds. Those were not seconds she would ever see again. And while she was spending them in the best way she could, she also felt a kind of pathos and melancholy over their loss. She was, in some small way, grieving for the time that passed. 

But soon enough, Severus seemed to grow bored of laying in bed, half-dozing as the morning sunlight began to inch across the floorboards, and he wiggled his way out from underneath Hermione. Then he settled his feet on the floor, stood, and stretched with a yawn.

"There's an envelope for you," Hermione added, realizing she hadn't given Severus Pince's invitation yet. "I think it's on the floor." 

"Underneath your dress?' he said, rolling his eyes a bit, and he sighed with exasperation and effort as he bent down to get it. "Where'd it come from?" 

"Madam Pince, strangely," Hermione said, and she added, "It's a bit confusing." 

Severus stood up again, folding Hermione's dress over his arm and frowning at the envelope. "Confusing," he repeated, and then he opened the envelope curiously. 

Two seconds later, he threw the letter on the bed. "What on earth?" he asked, "Is this real?" 

"I think so," Hermione said, and she confessed to him her sins of the previous night - and what had followed. 

"How queer," was all Severus said to that. "Very curious indeed."

"So," Hermione said, "presuming this isn't some sort of humiliating joke, would you like to go with me?" 

"I... suppose," Severus said, and frowned. "Parties are certainly not my forte." 

"Nor mine," Hermione answered, "but I think the circumstances warrant at least some investigation." 

"I tend to agree," he answered, and he shook his head. "This doesn't seem to bear the hallmarks of a joke. I can't remember the last time that Irma Pince did anything other than screeching. From what little I know of her, her particular brand of malice seems to be more good-intentioned, if eccentric, than cruel." 

"All right," Hermione said, and smiled at Severus fondly. "Then let's go to this solstice event, and worst case scenario is, we'll bow out early." 

"Perfectly reasonable," Severus replied, and his eyes glimmered at her with a sense of shared adventure. "We'll need to take me back to Knockturn Alley, though, i'm afraid - I don't have any formal robes that suit my current figure." 

"I'm happy to accompany you," Hermione responded, and she got up out of bed, wrapped her arms around his wonderfully squashy waist, and kissed him between the shoulder blades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyyyyyy so there's this sketch from SNL that cracks me up called "YO! Where Jackie Chan At?" and I'd like to respectfully pose the question: "YO! Where my reviewers at?" 
> 
> because don't forget: if this fic is your jam, I won't know unless you throw reviews at me! 
> 
> thanks <3


	68. worthiness

(trigger warning: suicidal ideation) 

That afternoon, Severus was working in his lab - he tried his best to minimize his workload during the weekend, so to spend as much time with possible with Hermione, but today he had to put in a few unavoidable hours. Also, Hermione suspected that he had overexerted his social muscles during Erika's visit, and needed some time to recuperate.

On her part, Hermione was strenuously grading papers when there came a knock on the door of her flat. Expecting McGonagall - who else was likely to drop by uninvited at teatime? - Hermione opened the door and was surprised to see Neville standing there, shaking his head. 

"Hi," she said, too startled to respond in any other way.

"Hermione," Neville articulated quietly, almost mumbling, as if he'd been practicing very carefully for hours and the meaning and sense had all been lost from his words. "I'm sorry. I was a fool, and I'm sorry, and would you please forgive me?" 

Perhaps it was just that she wanted a break from grading, or perhaps it was the tears in Neville's eyes, but Hermione shook her head and opened the door wide. She wordlessly waved him through, and he wordlessly came inside. His gait was slow and repentant. 

"I'm sorry," Neville said as she closed the door. "I'm so sorry." 

"I hear you," Hermione said, and she sat down on the couch, in her nest of papers. Neville continued to stand, abashed, not able to meet her eyes. "But it sounded like you were being pretty honest with me." 

"I was just lashing out," Neville said, "I didn't mean it, honest." 

"I mean," Hermione said, frowning, "This isn't the first time you've said something really uncharitable about Severus. I won't stand and listen to that shit." 

"Please forgive me," Neville said, continuing to stare at his shoes. "It won't happen again." 

"I don't know," Hermione said, and she sighed, leaning back on the couch and feeling a great weight settle onto her shoulders. She wondered if Neville would even be here if she hadn't stormed off like she had. She figured that if she hadn't stood up for Severus, Neville probably wouldn't be repentant now. It was pretty clear to her that Neville wasn't sorry for believing what he did about Snape - he was, however, sorry that she cared so much to stand apart from him because of his views. 

And Hermione was sick to death of people she loved hating each other. She'd been sick of it when Harry and Ron fought viciously during their school years, and she continued to be sick of it that Harry was alienating himself from both her and Ron. She was sick of her mother hating her, even though she knew it was an illness that caused her paranoia and hatred. She was sick of trying to be the peacemaker, and she had no desire to put up with this shit from Neville. 

Yes, she reminded herself, Neville had already been warned about the consequences of his actions. And yet he'd still had the audacity to try and turn her against Severus. And while she completely knew that Severus had been criminally abusive and unjust, Severus had also been criminally abused and unjustly treated. And despite this, Severus still faced the light, even though the light had burned him so many times. 

Darkness would have been easier to slip into, and Severus had persevered, loving goodness and justice unrequitedly. And Hermione believed firmly that Severus deserved someone believing in him and fighting for him, for once. 

So, screw Neville. His apologies were not only unnecessary at this point (he'd shown his true colors twice), but insulting. She wouldn't be beguiled by his tears again. Neville had a hard life, true, but his petty grudges had no role in determining her life's course - and he needed to learn that he couldn't sway her. 

"No," she said, finally, after these heartsearching deliberations, "This isn't fair, Neville. Not to me, and not to you. I need to be honest with you myself and say: this is the second time you've come to me repentantly, and for the same issue. I can't continue to make exceptions on your behalf, and I refuse to compromise my integrity in order to accommodate your missteps." 

"I understand," Neville said. He still hadn't been able to meet her eyes. "Fine." 

Then, turning on his heel, he walked slowly out of the flat, pathos aching in every step. 

................... 

This interaction more than set Hermione's teeth on edge. She seethed over it the rest of the afternoon. In one way, this was good, because it powered her through her grading. She was conscious of it and she tried her best not to let it influence her grading. Though truth be told, while her overall grading curve was fairly consistent with what she usually gave, her comments were on the shorter, snippier side. Whatever. Her students would live. 

She was still simmering when Severus returned to her flat. With a perfunctory knock, he came into the living room with a slightly jovial step, and he grabbed Hermione by the hands and yanked her up from the couch (albeit with effort, because Hermione had very little intention of getting up). 

"Granger, you're getting heavy," he said with the smirkiest smirk that ever did smirk. "Might need to lay off the sweets." 

"Screw you, Snape," Hermione huffed, plunking back down on the couch and picking up the lap throw that'd fallen to the ground as Severus swept her off her seat. 

"Whatever happened to 'hello dear, how was your day at the lab, won't you please have sex with me, I've been horny all day?'" responded Severus with uncompromising smarm, and Hermione swatted playfully at him with the sheath of papers in her hand. 

"I haven't been horny all day, first off," Hermione responded with a roll of the eyes. "And don't tell me that's what I sound like, to you?" 

"Only in my vanity, darling," he answered, and he removed his outer robe, tossed it effortlessly on the coat rack, and cleared a space for himself next to Hermione on the couch. "Now, what's the matter?" 

"Nothing," Hermione said, even though this was clearly a lie. 

Severus just stared at her, his face set in a neutral way. The only tic that belied his impatience was his raised eyebrow, and he scrutinized her with disbelief etched in his plump face. 

Nearly squirming at this gaze - which wasn't that dissimilar from his look of sexual appreciation, though this particular squirming wasn't that particular kind at all - Hermione took a deep breath and accidentally knocked over a stack of papers with her foot. Then, frustrated, she swiped her hand at the nearest stack, and it collapsed onto the floor, spreading across the ancient wood like carefully-placed dominoes. 

"Nothing?" Severus asked, and he extended a hand to her. "You don't get ruffled over trifles." 

"Fine," Hermione responded, and took another deep breath. Then, she accepted Severus' welcoming arm, and she draped herself with it, pressing her head against Severus' soft chest and enjoying the luscious way his jiggling flesh moved to accommodate her. "Neville came by this afternoon to apologize for being a prick yesterday." 

"I see," Severus said, and there was a long-suffering edge to his voice. "What did he do to necessitate that?" 

Hermione closed her eyes, wrapped her arm around his waist, and tightened her grasp on Severus. "I don't think I want to say," she said, knowing that Severus would have an interesting, possibly unpredictable reaction if he knew the source of the problem with certainty. 

"Why not?" asked Severus, and his voice was like a hammer poised to strike, mellifluous though it was. 

"Because I don't want to occlude the issue with context that might be distracting," Hermione said, though she mostly just wanted to avoid Severus having biased feelings about the situation. "Suffice it to say, he said some hurtful things that I'm disinclined to forgive him for." 

"I'm sorry to hear that," Severus said, though the way he said that particular phrase sounded a bit trite and meaningless coming out of his mouth at this particular moment. Maybe it was her imagination. "So he did apologize?" 

"Yeah," Hermione answered. 

"But it wasn't good enough?" 

"No," Hermione said, feeling Severus' muscles tense in the arm that was holding her. "It was pretty clear to me that he was just sorry for being caught, you know, and not sorry that he did it. And I have no patience for that sort of thing." 

"Indeed," Severus said, and she felt his breathing pace faster. He thought for several minutes, and then said, "May I make a suggestion?" 

Ugh. Hermione could feel that he was going to admonish her. She half thought about reconsidering whether or not to describe the actual incident in detail, but before she could, Severus went on, "Forgive him." 

"What?" Hermione asked, and felt her face tense with unpleasant feelings. "Why should I? It's the second time this particular thing has happened." 

"Men are fools," Severus said, and then hastily corrected himself as he seemed to reconsider the gendered statement. "Ahem. People are fools. Some people worse than others. Neville seems to be one particular type of fool who, try as he might, bumbles himself into situations that require apologies. And possibly he bumbles into these situations more than once. He's extraordinarily competent at some areas of his life - professionally, for instance, I hear he's quite the herbmeister - but in other areas, his weaknesses overshadow his strengths. And so I encourage you to forgive him. At least just once more. If he proves himself a fool again, feel free to disregard my suggestion. But sometimes people need to hear these sorts of things more than once, in order for the lesson to really sink in." 

"I don't think I want to do that," Hermione said staunchly. "He's shown his colors twice. Why should I put myself through the inconvenience of giving him another pass when he's proven that he can't be trusted on this matter?" 

"I don't know," Severus said, and there was an acidity to his voice that stung Hermione. "What made you attracted to him in the first place?" Severus, for his part, was steadfastly gazing at the moving picture above the mantelpiece of a sunny field - avoiding Hermione's eyes. 

It reminded Hermione of Neville's avoidance, honestly. And that recollection made Hermione profoundly uncomfortable. 

"He's sweet," Hermione said, shrugging. "Intelligent, brave, kind, loyal, all those things." 

"So is the loss of that kind of person - is that worth whatever it is you were fighting about?" Severus asked. 

Ugh. The guilt-trippingness of his voice was sickening, and Hermione saw that the man was projecting very fiercely onto Neville. 

"Look," Hermione said, turning her head and staring directly at Severus, "this isn't like you and Lily, okay? It's not like I've given up on him as a friend. I've just given up on dating him." 

"Hm," Severus said, and even though he wasn't looking at Hermione in response, "It must be nice to have your pick of lovers like that." 

"You'd better stop, Severus," Hermione warned, and she unwrapped herself from Severus' arm very pointedly. "This is different from you and Lily. It really is." 

"Fine," Severus spat, and he turned his head and stared blankly at Hermione. His eyes were dispassionate and cold, and it was frustrating for her to see this. "It's different. I get it." 

"No," Hermione said, heaving her heavy body into a standing position and putting her hands on her comely hips, "I don't think you do." Then, deciding she'd sat on the information long enough, she said with a bitter edge to her voice, "We were fighting about you, for the record. Neville still's got his knickers in a twist that I'm dating you. I told him to shove off if he can't accept that you're important to me." 

This stunned Severus into silence for several long moments. His mouth fell open, his eyes were wide, and he literally was aghast. 

He didn't seem to come up with any words, and Hermione laid a gentle kiss on his forehead. 

"So you see that this isn't about you and Lily at all," Hermione said. She put a finger under his chin, and guided his jaw upwards until his eyes were directly looking into hers. Then she felt his hands grasping at her hand, and she let him hold onto her. "This is about me, and you." 

Severus' eyes seemed to grow a trifle more glassy, but he blinked and suddenly the wetness was gone. Severus still looked sad, but Hermione read in his face some other kind of feeling - possibly of resolve. 

Then, he said softly, "That makes it even more important for you to forgive him, if you can, Hermione." 

"What?" Hermione asked, and snorted despite herself. "Didn't you just hear me say that I'm not interested in giving him another pass?" 

"I won't hold it against you if you don't forgive him," Severus said, with a voice as calm, tranquil, and soothing as an ocean's waves. "But I just wish you would. If you think that I somehow deserve the kindness you bestow on me, that poor young man deserves it thrice-fold." 

"Isn't that my judgment to make?" argued Hermione. 

"Of course," Severus said, and shook his head sadly. "Do as you must. But please consider the fact that, if as you report, the fight you had was about defending my honor - know that whatever he says about me, whatever he thinks about me, is wholly justified. And that if you're fighting with him on my account, you're fighting a battle that's long been lost." 

"Shut up," Hermione said, and she bent down and pressed her lips into his. Her kiss was hungry, angry, and energetic, while Severus' response was tired and weary. 

"Don't tell me to shut up," Severus said with a growl as Hermione pulled away. "This is a matter with which you have no right to argue." 

"Perhaps not," Hermione said fiercely, "but it grieves me deeply to see you without any fight left in your veins." 

"I'm old, Hermione," said Severus, and there was a deep despairing sadness in his voice, tinged with desperate anger. "Some days I feel as if I've lived a hundred years. And today, as we speak of this matter, I feel as if I've overstayed my welcome on this earth - and I feel it more than ever. How is it that you think I'm more deserving of your attentions than that genuinely *good* young man? A young man I spent so many years hating and trampling upon so viciously - to the point where I was his boggart?" 

"You heard about that?" Hermione asked, thinking back to the days they'd spent in Lupin's class. 

"Of course I heard about that," hissed Severus. "And I don't blame him one bit. I..." 

Then she suddenly saw him double over, and Severus' face was between his legs. She placed a concerned hand on his back, and she felt that he was hyperventilating. 

"Are you okay?" asked Hermione, feeling suddenly very small and helpless. Her mind immediately worried that Severus was having a heart attack. "Sev? What can I do to help you?" 

"Water," he croaked, not able to look at her, "water," he repeated more softly. 

Hermione accio'ed a glass and cast an aguamenti faster than she ever could remember doing before. 

"Thank you," he whispered as she offered the glass to him. He sat up and carefully sipped from the glass. Hermione saw that both his hands were shaking, and he had to hold the glass with both hands. "Thank you," he whispered again, and Hermione took the glass from him as he looked down to place it on a side table. 

Then, he bent down again, taking deep stabilizing breaths and trying not to cough. Hermione put a hand on his shoulder, and rubbed his back kindly. Severus shuddered, but seemed to calm down with the touch. 

"I... I don't feel well," he said, numbly. "Bedroom? Help me?" 

There was something so foreign and inaccessible in his voice, Hermione stood up swiftly and grasped his arm. He eased himself up from the couch and, following her lead, he accompanied her to the bedroom, where he collapsed on the bed, his face towards the ceiling. 

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, her hand resting on his soft, luxurious breast. (And her mind kicked itself for even letting that kind of thought enter her mind uninvited when Severus was in such a poor state.) 

"No," Severus answered, and his voice was small and pained. It even cracked a little bit. "I..." 

He seemed to struggle with his next words, but he swallowed and added, his voice rough and scratchy with pain, "Why am I even here? I wish I were dead." 

"No, you don't," Hermione said - but she realized even as she said it that she was begging. 

"I should have died in that filthy shack," Severus said, and he turned over and dove face first into the nearest pillow. Before Hermione could answer, he was outright sobbing there. "The only reason I didn't," he said, barely intelligible through the muffling of the pillow, "was because I didn't want to die there, in the fucking Shrieking Shack. 

"In those last moments, I almost didn't save myself, Hermione," he said, his entire body shaking with rage and pain. "I almost didn't use the potion I'd kept on my body like a talisman for so many months. I was grateful that it was all going to be over. I was so, so, so tired. And I was done trying to prove that I wasn't the man I used to be. Trying to right my wrongs. I was so done.

"But then as I was laying there, I remembered that I'd almost died there once before, at the hands of those fucking Maurauders. And that sense of not wanting them to have that satisfaction - I didn't want them to feel like karma had finished the job they'd set out to do - that was the only reason I gave myself the potion, Hermione." 

He was crying vehemently, but had turned himself slightly so that she could hear his words. Hermione, for her part, just tried to comfort him. She held his hand, and she stroked her hand through his greasy hair, massaging his scalp. 

"It's okay," she whispered, trying to be soothing. "Everything's all right." 

"I only kept myself alive out of hate," Severus went on, "I wanted to die somewhere else - anywhere else. Just not there." 

He seemed to be crying himself out, though - his sobs were becoming less jagged, and more like the cries of a trapped animal who had begun to lose all hope of rescue. 

Abruptly, he turned over, and he stared at Hermione. His face was red with his tears, and there was a sense of profound despair in his eyes. But he stared at her unwaveringly. 

"Many days, I still want to be dead," he said in a low voice, "below everything else, that feeling is still there. Even when I manage to be happy for a moment, for even most of a day - I can't get rid of the sense that I don't belong here anymore. That me being here means I must have offended some very aggressive god who wants to see me suffer every day with the burden of my sin. How can I live with myself knowing everything I'm responsible for?" 

"What can I say to this?" Hermione asked aloud. In her mind, she felt a sadness nearly as profound as Severus' as she thought: am I not enough to make him happy? 

Of course, she dismissed the thought outright as soon as she admitted it to herself. This was the nature of his illness. 

"I don't know," Severus responded, and his sobbing crescendoed a bit again. "I'm sorry. You don't deserve this mess of a man," he nearly wailed, burying his face in a pillow again. "I'm not worth the air I breathe." 

"I'm so sorry you're in so much pain," Hermione answered, and she rubbed her hands up and down his spine gently. "How can I help you?" 

"There's nothing," Severus said, sounding somewhat hysterical. "I'm worthless, and you shouldn't bother with me. I'm wasting your time, your youth, your kindness, your beauty, your life." 

"I think I'll be the judge of whether or not I'm wasting my resources, thank you very much," Hermione said with a no-nonsense air, and Severus didn't argue. He just cried harder. 

But he couldn't cry forever, and soon he seemed to dry out a bit. He remained face-down in the pillow, but seemed as though his sobbing was reducing. 

"Hey, Sev?" Hermione asked gently, as Severus hiccuped into his pillow, "do you mind if I ask you a question?" 

He didn't say yes, but he also didn't say no. He just hiccuped again. It was plaintive, and reminded her of a little child. 

"Don't be offended," Hermione said softly, "but I just want to check - when's the last time you ate something?" 

He didn't answer, and she wasn't entirely sure if he heard her, but then he slowly sat up and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. This was unsuccessful at clearing his face of tears, so he stared at her with bleary eyes. 

"This morning," he said softly. 

"Let's get something in you, then," Hermione said, taking on a compassionate but practical tone similar to that employed by Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing. "Even just a biscuit." 

"Fine," Severus responded, his voice tart and raw, but as Hermione accio'ed a biscuit from the kitchen, he accepted it mutely and chewed it. 

Neither of them said anything for several minutes as he ate the biscuit. Finally, he finished it - it took quite a bit of effort for him to get down - but he seemed calmer afterwards. 

"Feeling better?" Hermione asked, and Severus nodded, looking a lot younger than his forty-odd years. There was a sense of lostness in his eyes that made Hermione's heart break over and over again. 

"I love you," Hermione said, and at the sight of tears welling up in Severus' eyes again, she said, "and I think you need to hear that. Don't argue with it. Just let it happen. You're worth my time and energy, and I want to see you be happy. So if I'm making you suffer, you need to tell me. But otherwise, I forbid you to tell me that you're not good enough for me. I'm here. When you say that you feel like I'm wasting my time with you... that's disrespectful to me, because it implies that I don't know what I want. I do know what I want, and I want you. And you have no right to tell me otherwise. Understood?" 

With a heavy nod, Severus consented. He avoided meeting her eyes. 

"This does not change the fact that... it would ease my mind greatly, if you forgave Mr. Longbottom," Severus said lowly, not making eye contact. "The lives of compatriots as close as he is to you... well, I would be loathe to see you sacrifice such a friendship on my behalf." 

"Fine," Hermione said, shaking her head. "I'll give him a final chance. But I think it should be clear to him that I will not tolerate him maligning you." 

"That is your prerogative," Severus said, "but remember how even I think he is justified to malign me all he wishes." 

"I don't understand why you say that," Hermione said, softly. "But I'll take your recommendation with salt." 

"Thank you," he whispered, and as Hermione lay down on the bed, he grasped her with such a cherished gesture of affection that Hermione felt guilty for ever having thought that it'd be a good idea to chastise Neville.


	69. frank longbottom

Hermione didn't get a chance to talk to Neville until Monday morning. Hermione entered the hall and saw Neville belaboredly eating what appeared to be an obscenely large stack of waffles. And he seemed to be making a valiant go at them, though was halfway through and already quite slow. 

"Hey," Hermione said, sliding up to him. Neville looked up at her mournfully, but didn't say anything. "May I sit with you?" 

"Whatever," Neville said, and focused on obtaining another bite of his food. 

Hermione realized that this was probably as good as she was going to get, for the moment, and she sat down in the next chair. She served herself some juice, and a few waffles of her own. This being her second breakfast of the morning, she was conservative in how many she put on her plate, but she was generous with the syrup and clotted cream. 

Then, once she'd dressed them to her satisfaction with fresh gooseberries and bilberries, she took a few bites and thoughtfully contemplated the man in front of her. He was looking distinctly podgier than she'd seen him last, though she couldn't completely be sure. He seemed determined not to look at her, and instead focused all his attention to eating the stout stack that remained on his plate. 

Hermione remained quiet for several minutes, contemplating how to approach him. Finally, she said, "I accept your apology. I'm sorry it took so long for me to get back to you." 

Neville laid down his fork and turned his head to meet her steady gaze. Then, not saying anything, he shook his head. 

"This isn't the way it was supposed to happen," he said softly. 

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked. Something wasn't quite right. 

Neville just waved his hand, and picked up his fork again. There was a sense of fatalistic determination around him, as if he was giving up and just letting the flow of life take him forward without resistance. 

"Luna's coming home," Neville said, and his eyes were full of hurt and pain. "I asked her to marry me."

"Congratulations," Hermione said, though something about the announcement was supposed to sting her, she felt. Honestly, what she felt was mostly relief. 

"She didn't say yes," Neville responded, and he stabbed savagely at a rogue gooseberry from his plate. "But she also didn't say no." 

"That's good, right?" Hermione asked, and Neville just shook his head. 

His eyes were bright with passion, hidden deep beneath the surface. "All you have to say is that you'll be mine, and only mine," Neville said softly, "and I'll never talk to her again." 

Hermione began to see that this was more power play, and less friendly than she'd hoped. "And since that isn't happening," Hermione said, keeping her tone light, "I think you're doing the right thing. Though maybe for the wrong reasons." 

Neville shook his head. There was a sense of disbelief in his eyes, but he didn't have anything else to say on the subject. 

"I do want to offer an explanation, for what it's worth," Neville said, and he frowned with some perplexity. 

"You don't have to," Hermione answered, feeling more tense as she read that Neville was about to make some kind of major confession. "Really, it's all right." 

"I want to, though," Neville said, "I... I wasn't trying to be mean, 'Mione. I was embarrassed, you see, and I was worried of what you'd think of me." 

"Why embarrassed?" Hermione asked. She poured some more syrup on her waffles as an excuse for something to do. 

"When we were in the broom closet," Neville said, and his voice was tightening. "It was getting... a bit heavy, so to speak. And I was worried that we were going to be... doing things." 

"Doing things?" Hermione asked, frowning. "You mean, having sex?" 

"Yeah," Neville said, and shoved a huge chunk of waffle in his mouth for emphasis. 

"You were *worried* that we were going to have sex?" asked Hermione, who was somewhat dumbfounded at the idea. 

"Yeah," Neville said, after swallowing carefully. 

"What ever were you worried about?" Hermione asked, trying to avoid the judgment that was inevitably crawling into her voice. 

"That it wouldn't... wouldn't be right to do it, for the first time, together, in a broom closet under rushed circumstances," Neville said. 

Hermione thought about this for a few minutes. True, she had been thinking at the time that they would probably get their sexual co-experiences started that afternoon in the closet. But the thing was, when would have been a better time? As she thought about it, she could understand his objection, but it was a strange one for Neville to have, she thought. 

"I'm a bit surprised," Hermione said, her voice gentle. "I mean, if I'm hearing you right, you were scared because it wasn't romantic enough? Isn't that usually something that, erm, should be more of a concern to me than to you? It's women who are obsessed with things being romantic, right?" 

"I don't know," Neville said, and his voice was soft. "Maybe I'm not actually that good at being a man, because it is actually important to me." 

Hermione shook her head. "This is ridiculous," she muttered to herself, and her thoughts echoed, *how on earth did I get stuck with these two poor saps?*

"Fine," Hermione said, shaking her head. "I won't pretend to understand, but I can accept it. What matter is it anyway, if you're marrying Luna?" 

"Again," Neville said stubbornly, "she didn't give me an answer one way or the other, and I'll drop it immediately if you say the word." 

"That's not fair to her," Hermione said sternly. "If I were her, I wouldn't want a man who would say that to another woman." 

"And she'll understand," Neville said softly. "She is very understanding." 

"Daft, is more like it," Hermione responded, but Neville didn't argue. "So I understand now. You said the things you said because you were trying to stave off us actually having sex. Why not just tell me what you wanted?" 

"Because I didn't want you to laugh at me," Neville said, "you're so sexually experienced, you've got this knowledgeable way about you. You and Snape both. And me... I haven't even done it before." 

"Wait," Hermione said, and she put her fork down. "You're telling me you're a virgin?" 

"Well," Neville said, clearly uncomfortable. "For the most part, yeah. There was one night Ginny and I spent in the Room of Requirement during my last year..." 

He blushed furiously red, and another gear in Hermione's mind clicked into place. 

*Oh. The invitation from Madam Pince - where we're supposed to meet is the seventh floor - so the winter solstice party's probably in the Room of Requirement.* 

Putting aside that realization for the moment, Hermione leaned in closer. "What'd you do?" she asked, genuinely curious. 

"I... erm... did things to her, with my mouth," Neville said, and he pressed a finger to his lips, and he bit his finger's cuticle urgently. 

"That sounds like you're not a virgin, then," Hermione responded with a little smirk of victory. "That's participating in a sexual experience." 

"Yeah," Neville said sadly, "but we were interrupted, so it wasn't reciprocated." 

"Ugh," Hermione said, and she sighed. "But you were with Luna for years, right?" she asked, "you two never did it together? She always struck me as..." 

Hermione thought better than to say 'a floozy' at that moment, but she was struggling to think of a better word. 

"...someone who was more inclined, than not, to experiment." 

"I know," Neville said, and he sighed. "I admit that I was surprised - any time I tried to propose it, she had some sort of excuse. And then we just sort-of got stuck in a pattern, and once we did so, I did my own fair share of avoiding it." 

"That must be rough," Hermione said, and she sighed. "And you still are going to marry her?" 

"Why not?" Neville asked, and he also sighed. "I love her. Scatterbrained bird that she is, I adore her." 

"But you also have feelings for me?" Hermione said thoughtfully, and smiled as he seemed troubled by the dichotomy. 

"Yeah," Neville said. Valiantly, he finished off the final bites of waffle, and then with a grumbling effort, he leaned forward and grabbed himself another serving of waffles about half the size of his previous stack. It still was quite a hefty serving; a mere half would have satisfied McGonagall. Hermione's eyes were wide as she watched Neville lather the waffle with soft pads of golden butter, and take a dripping bite of the confection. 

"I wouldn't want to be in your shoes right now," Hermione said, finding it hard to focus on the conversation given Neville's extraordinary gluttony. She was surprised at his constitution - usually he wasn't nearly such a trooper. But here he was, stuffing himself with the conviction of a thestral charging. "You've got some decisions to make." 

"I guess so," Neville said, and took another labored bite of his waffle. 

Hermione watched, feeling like a mouse observing a fat cat eating an oversized block of cheese. She normally didn't feel so troubled by the sight of a man eating - but right now she saw that there was something else going on in Neville's mind. He wasn't eating for the sheer pleasure of it. It felt like he was putting on a show. 

"You don't have to keep eating, you know," Hermione said, offering her hand to Neville. 

He turned his head to stare at her, and there was something strange and bitter in his eyes. 

"How fat do I have to get to make myself irresistible to you?" he asked, and there was a franticness in his voice that she hadn't picked up on before. "Do I need another five stone? Ten?" 

Hermione rolled her eyes and put her hand protectively over Neville's hand. "You could be the fattest person in all the world - and I wouldn't touch you with that attitude," she said straightforwardly. "I don't want someone who thinks I'm that much of a monster. After all," she went on, "I'm not the one who's got a problem, here. I told you that I consented to being your temporary stopgap with no promise of anything else. What I don't consent to is monogamy with you." 

"You'd be monogamous with Snape, though," Neville said, and there was a snarl in his voice. It lacked some harshness, but it was still there. 

"Maybe I would," Hermione said coolly, "and maybe I wouldn't. It's really none of your concern. The point is, at this time, I consent to be polyamorous with him, and I'm willing to consider dating you within that context. And for whatever reason, he's rooting for us. So the ball's in your court - take me for who I am, or leave me." 

"What do you mean, he's rooting for us?" asked Neville, and there was a sense of surprise in his voice. 

"He told me to accept your apology, first of all," Hermione said with a shrug. "Insisted that I give you another chance, actually." 

"Really?" 

The surprise in Neville's face was sufficient to make Hermione completely confused. "Yeah," she said, watching as Neville seemed to process the information. "He thinks you're great, Neville, and he wants us to make it work together, if we can." 

"Snape?" Neville asked, and he shook his head in disbelief. "Snape thinks I'm... great?" 

"Well, he said you're 'extraordinarily competent' at herbology, among other things," Hermione said, "but the sum of what he said is that, yeah, he thinks you're great. And he really wants me to make amends with you, if possible." 

She thought it might add to Neville's amazement to add that Severus had literally had a breakdown about the matter, but she figured that would be violating Severus' trust far too much. 

"I can't believe it," Neville said, and he took another bite of his waffle. There was a bit of mindlessness about how he ate, but it was better than seeing him try and punish himself through stuffing his stomach. "I can't." 

There seemed to be some newfound hope in Neville's voice. 

"So," Hermione said, taking another bite of her own waffle. "What do you want to do?" 

"I want to try again," Neville said, almost before Hermione could finish her sentence. He laid down his fork. "Please." 

"But what about Luna?" Hermione asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow at him. 

"She doesn't need to know," Neville said, "after all, she hasn't said yes or no to my proposal, yet." 

"I don't know how ethical that is," Hermione said, but Neville was standing up at this point. 

"I'll tell her when she comes back," Neville said, "she'll be home in a few days. And it probably won't change anything anyway. But I want to know, Hermione, if we would... work in that way. I can't go forward with Luna if there's any possibility that we might be able to create something together." 

"I can't be monogamous with you," Hermione said, and Neville nodded steadily. 

"I know," he said, careful but deliberate, "but I think you're right. We can make it work." 

"All this," Hermione said, "based on the fact that I told you Snape is in favor of us being together?" 

"Yeah," Neville said, and he smiled faintly. "I guess I underestimated him. I guess if you like him, there's got to be something to like, eh?" 

"Well reasoned," Hermione said. She finished off the last bite of her waffle. 

"So meet me," Neville said, a shy smile emerging on his face. "Tonight?" 

"Oh," Hermione said, her eyes widening. "Erm. Yes. Where?" 

Neville's eyes were bright and encouraging. "My rooms?" 

Hermione simply nodded. "Sure," she said, feeling a bit woozy with the conversation. It really had escalated quickly. 

"Okay," Neville said, and he pushed his chair back and stood. He was shaking just the slightest bit, imperceptibly. "See you after dinner?" 

"Sure," Hermione answered. 

And then she found herself alone, feeling a warm cuddly feeling in the bottom of her stomach. She rubbed her belly absently, finished her waffle, and headed off to teach her classes. She wasn't sure if she wanted to skip or cry. 

 

 

..............

*is there a Briticism for the word waffle? if so I'm very sorry because in my brief research all I could find was 'grid biscuit' and that seemed not quite right.


	70. flower tree spell

Hermione rushed upstairs after classes ended for the day, and she found Severus calmly on the computer as she came into her flat. 

"Hey," she said, throwing off her messenger bag with exhaustion and approaching him. He looked so nice and squishy where he lounged on the couch, his ankles crossed and his laptop perched on his pillowlike belly. He let his laptop droop as Hermione leaned down and kissed him tenderly on the lips. "How are you?" 

"I've been better," he answered grumpily, and with an aggrieved sigh he slammed the computer shut and slipped it between the couch cushions. Then he accepted Hermione into his arms, and he pressed his face between her soft breasts. "I like this dress on you, though." 

She felt a little thrill of excitement at the observation. The dress was one chosen for comfort, not beauty in particular - but to its advantages, the cotton jersey was very form-clinging, and it outlined the fullness of her stomach. She felt fairly bloated after a magnificent performance of gluttony at lunch, but she took comfort from the way her stomach rumbled as Severus pressed kisses upon it, up and down the pot-belly shelf that was distinctly emerging from her waist and hips. 

"What did you weigh this morning?" he asked, and the heat of his breath against her tum made her nerves tingle with excitement. 

"I was 224 this morning," Hermione said, with some pride in her voice. "That's four pounds from just the weekend." 

"Astounding," Severus remarked, and he wrapped his arms firmly around Hermione's plumpening middle. "Those potions, combined with your insatiable hunger, are going to leave you as round as a dumpling soon enough." 

"A dumpling you'd like to eat, I'm sure," Hermione whimpered, feeling her loins stiffen and her vagina begin to ache. 

"True enough," Severus responded with good humor. He wickedly began to nibble on her soft belly, and Hermione nearly sank to her knees with a moan. 

"Are we going to have dinner or what?" Hermione asked as Severus' hands began to wander further down to the hem of her skirt. 

"I am," Severus said seductively, and Hermione felt his fingers tug at the lower hem of her dress and gently wander up her luscious thighs. 

"Oh gods," Hermione murmured as she felt him wind his way into her panties. Severus had a smirk on his face that made her want to scream with pleasure, slap him in his smug mug, or both. His fingers began to squeeze and tease her labias, running up and down the channel of growing lubrication between her legs, and she felt her resolve weaken in the face of such immovable lust. 

"Fine," she said, "Bedroom." 

And Severus hastily withdrew his hand, wiped it on his trousers, and stood with great effort. 

"At once," he agreed, and they accompanied each other there with haste. 

...........

Hermione loved the feeling of Severus ripping off her clothes and ravaging her. Laying back on the softness of the bed, she wriggled her butt as he tore off her panties and relished the sense of cool linen against her luxurious buttocks. She had so much softness to lounge upon, it was glorious. 

Severus wasted no time, and soon he had crawled onto the bed, his head between her legs, and he parted them ever so gently to give him entrance. Then, artistically, he licked at her cunt, swiping up and down the channels formed between her labia majora and minora, with teasing little licks at her clit as the mood struck him.

Hermione relaxed into the gentle motions, unwinding like a rose at sunrise and breathing deeply as Severus grazed upon her. 

Then, she had a bit of a surprise for him. Admittedly, she'd been looking up sex charms and spells in preparation for her night with Neville - granted, she had no idea how that was going to go, given she was getting such profoundly good lovemaking from Severus at this moment - and a few had struck her fancy. 

One of which was perfect for this situation, she reasoned. 

She grabbed her wand, which was just within reach, and she waved it at the headboard, murmuring the spell softly. The headboard suddenly began to grow, its grains knitting more closely together and lengthening taller and taller. Then it started to grow branches, spindly long fingers that were as artistic as strokes from a caligrapher's pen.

At this, Severus looked up to watch with interest as she completed the spell. 

The tree began to grow leaves, and it grew as lush and full of green as a tree in summer. And then, tiny white blossoms began to emerge, and the spell completed, leaving a bower of beautiful flowers of all different sizes, colors, and shapes. 

"That's gorgeous," Severus murmured, and he turned over from where he lay face down on the bed to stare up at the beautiful flowers. "What are they for?" 

"Pick one," Hermione said with a gentle smile, "and you'll see." 

Hesitantly, he reached up and waved his hand through the leaves of the tree. While the tree responded to his touch, waving gently as he reached between the branches, and even though it rattled, he couldn't grasp any parts of it other than the flowers. He picked one - a fluttery-edged rose - and, raising it to his nose, he spun it in his fingers experimentally, letting the edge of the flower graze his upper lip. 

"Ah," he said, growing slightly pink, but he tried to pass it off as nonchalance, "I think I see." 

He proceeded to twist himself around back to a prime cunnilingus position, but he gave himself a little bit of room to maneuver. He gently brought the flower between Hermione's legs, and he parted her labias as though parting the pages of a book. Then, with one hand holding her spread like that, he spun the flower's edge against her clit. 

The sensation was like a dozen people licking her, simultaneously, and Hermione nearly bowled over in ecstasy, except she had nowhere to really bowl over to, since she was flat in bed. She found her pelvis rocking, and she moaned with a thorough orgasm. 

"These are no mere flowers," Severus said as he pulled the flower away from her clit and showed her. The rose seemed to have lost a bit of its lustre, now that it'd been used to pleasure Hermione. In fact, it was fading from Severus' hand into vapor even as he examined it. "These are structurally unlike any other flowers I've ever seen." 

"I know," Hermione said, and she relaxed with the heady experience of drinking in post-orgasm endorphins. "This is a spell from the Restricted Section." 

"Oh," Severus said, and he grinned with a feral glee. "I admit there's many things there that I've wanted to read, and never had the time to explore." 

"Well," Hermione said, "I think, for science, it's important that we do so. In a methodical and rigorous way, of course." 

"Of course," Severus said, and he was outright smiling. Hiding his face behind his hair, he kissed Hermione on her plump inner thighs, making her cellulite jiggle in the most complimentary of ways beneath his chin. 

"Let's try another one," Hermione said, and pointed at one of the starlike lilies above her. It was white and snowy at the tips of its petals, but dark and crimson red deeper inside. 

Not responding, Severus rolled out from between her legs and reached up to get the flower. It was oblong-shaped, and it seemed to have a fleshy weightiness to it that seemed to suggest only one thing. 

"Put it on," commanded Hermione, and silently he began to remove his clothes. With a grunt he removed his belt, squeezed out of his trousers, and removed his pants, whereupon he took his cock in his hand and began to massage it. It was attentive, but not rock-hard yet; he coaxed it into a much more keen state, and then slid the flower upon his cock. 

"Ohhh," he shuddered, and he closed his eyes in sheer enjoyment of the flower sex toy. "I could get used to this." 

"Do you think it's meant to go inside me, too, or just you?" Hermione asked, scrutinizing the toy from afar. 

Without responding, Severus heaved himself back on the bed, and clambered over Hermione's soft fat body. 

"Let's try," he said with a hiss, and planted a fierce, wet kiss under her jaw. 

Hermione felt him powerfully maneuver himself between her legs, gently get himself into the proper alignment, and then he began to slowly slide into her. 

The flower made Severus' cock thicker. Also there were ridges on the flower, horizontal rings around the petals that made the experience of him going in and out even more explosive than usual. Hermione shook with orgasm almost as soon as Severus got himself inside her. 

Their bellies pressed into each other, and Severus had to readjust his fat rolls and position to ensure that he could get a proper landing. 

"Getting a bit big, my dear," he said, planting a kiss between her soft breasts as he sweated over her. "Look at this fat gut you've got." 

"Look who's talking," Hermione responded, her face growing red and hot with pleasure. "It doesn't help that I have to watch you stuff your fat face all day." 

"I can't help my appetite," drawled Severus, between his effortful thrusts, "but I think you seem to find the results of it... remarkably pleasing." 

"Ooh, gods, yes," Hermione moaned, her chin tipping up and her brain reeling in the pleasurable neurochemicals. "Yeah, well, I think your appetite rubs off on me." 

"That's certainly true," Severus said, and there was a tenseness growing in his voice, suggesting he was getting close to his own climax. 

"You're going to be so hungry for dinner," Hermione said coyly, feeling her breasts joyously bounce as Severus picked up speed. "What are you going to eat?" 

"You tell me," Severus panted, and she felt beads of sweat fall from his face onto her chest. 

"Well," Hermione said with thoughtfulness, "A bit of ham would do you well, and an enormous bowl of pasta with creamy white sauce. Long green beans sauteed with garlic and onion, and treacle pudding for dessert." 

"That sounds fairly conservative," Severus gasped, and he slowed down just a little bit. "I would probably still be hungry after." 

"Then let's add another course," Hermione whispered, her arms extending to grab on something on either side of her - one hand reached a pillow, and she grasped it hard and twisted it. The other reached the edge of the bed, and she held onto that tightly too. "Chocolate souffle, as light and fluffy as early season snow. Treacle tart, sweet and robust in flavor, melting in your mouth. Jaffa cakes, collapsing on your tongue like velvet jewels of fruit." 

"Oh gods," he murmured, "Gods." 

He slowed down some more, and he took some longer breaths. "I can't hold on much longer," he confessed, as he came to a full stop. "I'm very close. One more go and I'll be spent." 

"That's fine," Hermione said, and she ran a hand through Severus' hair. "Don't worry. Just enjoy me." 

He smiled with a crookedness that made Hermione feel so immensely delighted to see. It was a sight that she'd never seen on Severus' face when he was her teacher, and her heart sang just a little bit every time she saw it on him as her lover. 

"I always enjoy you," he said simply, and he kissed her on the lips for a drawn out, aching kiss. 

Once he broke away, he continued to thrust his hips, making both their bellies jiggle with a satisfactory motion as he got back up to speed. 

"Yes," he whispered, his eyes closing as his warm stomach bounced against hers, and Hermione moaned as she felt his cock slide in and out with such gusto. 

"Vanilla ice cream," drawled Hermione, "with flecks of crystallized honey that dance in the cold sweetness like fairy dust. Soft gingerbread biscuits, shaped into hearts, coated in chocolate. Strawberry cake, a jelly roll with soft pink flesh and a red nougat of strawberry jam." 

"Oh gods," Severus whispered hoarsely, "coming." 

She felt him collapse on top of her, and his breath was jagged. She pressed her fingers into his soft side and buttocks, massaging his vast expanse of skin with her fingers. 

"Thank you," he murmured, kissing her once more, and then he rolled off her. "You." 

"Thank you, too," Hermione responded, and she cuddled up against him, draping her arm around his soft squishy middle. She watched with fondness as the flower that had been snugly on his cock disappeared into a wispy vapor, as if it'd never been there. "Now, are you hungry?" 

He rolled his eyes, but there was another of those crooked smiles on his face. "What do you think?" he asked rhetorically, and he relaxed even deeper into the pillows. "Just wait twelve seconds, my dear, for me to summon my strength again." 

"Of course," Hermione answered, and kissed him on the cheek.


	71. tight panties and chocolate tart

Dinner together was fairly usual, for them. Severus requested an exorbitant amount of food, they attempted to do justice to it, and soon enough were replete with fullness. During their meal, Hermione told Severus about her plans with Neville for later, and he rolled his eyes at her. 

“One minute you’re leaving him, one minute you’re ravishing him,” said Severus, shaking his head incredulously. He raised one eyebrow seductively. “If he doesn’t satisfy you - *completely* - you know where you can find me.” 

“Either way,” Hermione said, “I plan to join you tonight for sleep, if you’re amenable.” 

“You’re always welcome,” he said cordially, but his eyes betrayed the warmth of feeling behind his words. 

This was as good as she was going to get as far as his blessing, so once they finished their meal, Hermione struggled out of her chair, rubbing her aching belly, and she kissed him tenderly. 

“Save me some of that chocolate tart,” she beseeched him as he took a forkful of it. “I’ll be wanting some later.” 

“You minx,” Severus responded with a rumble, “We’ll see if there’s any left for you.” 

“There’d better be,” she said, patting him on the shoulder and returning to the bedroom. “Or we’ll be having words.” 

“Oh bother,” Severus answered charmingly, “words. I’ve faced some of the most fearsome wizards and witches in history, and more than anything else, I was terrified of their words.” 

She stuck her head out of the bedroom and glared at him playfully. He shrugged, feigning helplessness, and continued to eat the chocolate tart straight from the tin. 

“You’re one of them,” he added as she tried to close the door. 

She frowned dramatically, doing her best to imitate the queen’s disapproval, and she left the door wide open to tantalize him as she changed her clothes. 

As she pulled off her cotton dress and found herself a gauzy, silky robe, Hermione knew there wouldn’t be any tart for her when she got back, because it’d all be in Severus’ succulent stomach. 

She didn’t really mind; just as he hoped she would be completely satisfied by Neville (well, hoped to an extent - she knew there was at least part of him that hoped Neville would be a miserable failure of a lover, to better bolster his own ego) she preferred her favorite glutton be completely satisfied while she was away. 

As long as peace and sufficient economic prosperity continued in their world, there would always be more chocolate tart. And for every bite of chocolate tart that Severus held hostage for himself, there would also be more of Severus to love. And that was the way she liked it. 

………..

Her favorite, sexiest panties were too small. They were a peach lace concoction, creamy and warm, highlighting the pinkness of her stretch marks and complimenting her autumn-colored hair. They’d been on the cusp of a trifle snug for weeks now, but as of today, she had to declare that her stomach, hips, and arse had declared victory over them. 

Granted, she still could get them on, but it felt like they’d been glued to her skin, and the crotch felt like it wanted to melt into her pubic hair once and for all. They were elastic - she’d never been able to give up the secure feeling that muggle underpants gave her - and unfortunately this meant that the elastic was cutting into her skin where it strained to contain her. 

She didn’t have any others that were sufficiently sexy, however. Most of her underwear was drab and functional, and built for minimizing her tummy during the school hours. (However futle a task *that* was!) 

No, today she was officially too fat to fit into her extra-large panties, and she was thrilled to look at herself in the mirror and admire her handiwork. 

Her tum was distended, full of food that it was, and created an elegant arc over the rim of her panties. It overhung pleasurably, and every breath she took made it jiggle in a way that made her want to rut against it. 

Alas, she couldn’t sex herself - though there was probably a spell for that, wasn’t there? Of course there was. Moreover, it might be fun to use polyjuice for that purpose sometime. Though she wasn’t entirely sure if desiring herself so earnestly was incestuous or not. It’d be like… masturbation, basically. Right? She wasn’t sure. 

In any case, none of this speculation was helpful to answering her current problem. What should she do about her panties? 

There was, of course, the option of going without panties to visit Neville. But she felt like that’d be a little too much, too soon. She supposed he wanted to enjoy undressing her, or something. And that probably meant she shouldn’t let it all hang out, as much as she’d like to. 

No, probably the most appropriate thing to do would be to simply expand her underwear to the next size up. Granted, she’d already done that with this pair before, she could see - the elastic was nearly as wide as it would go, and the cotton was acquiring that translucent color that was trademark of extension spells. The lace looked as fine as a spider's web. 

Looking at it, she grabbed her wand from the dresser and pressed it into the fabric. Testing a corner, she tried to make the fabric grow just a little bit more, to better accommodate her lush arse. The thin cotton began to show signs of snapping apart, so she frowned and decided against further experimentation, letting the cotton breathe back to its previous size. This pair wouldn’t be able to safely undergo another extension, that was certain. 

She ended up deciding to go ahead and wear them. If Severus was in need of new formal clothes, she was probably in need of new everything. 

It was such a thrilling feeling, to realize that she'd gone from a plump one hundred and fifty-odd pounds in early August to the quite portly two hundred twenty-odd pounds now. A quick calculation left her reeling with pleasure at the knowledge that she'd put on nearly seventy pounds, at a rate of approximately seventeen pounds a month. That was around half a pound a day. more or less. Though most of it had piled on in October and November, if she was honest, where her rate was around a pound a day; she'd weighed in around a hundred sixty-five at the beginning of October. 

It was truly rapid weight gain, and would not have been possible without magic. And Hermione, to some extent, felt like she hadn't even really noticed herself growing into these proportions - she'd just gone along with her daily life, eating her heart out, and letting Severus encourage her. 

Indeed, she'd done pretty good body building work this year. 

And there certainly were more pounds coming her way, if she continued to be so lucky. 

She knew she was remarkably changed in terms of her physical form. Being with Severus had been... transformational, thus far. 

Her rate of growth wasn't sustainable forever, she knew, but she was going to enjoy it to the last drop. 

She admired herself in the mirror, feeling uncommonly vain but unable to help herself. She had the formation of a double chin that was growing quite distinct, and her stomach was proud and unrelenting in its glory. She hefted it in her hand, and it jiggled with a pleasurable wiggly feeling as she let it drop again. 

Yes, she was happy to have this shape. It suited her far better, she felt. She liked the fact that when she looked at herself in the mirror, her body evoked her studiousness and dedication to her work. To look at herself, she was reminded of how much of her new softness was a result of either working on her grading, or on the conference, or on her own papers, or simply on reading. The academic life was frequently thought of as a solitary one, but it wasn’t commonly thought of as sedentary - though, in fact, that’s exactly what it was for her. 

She didn’t care to impress fancy folks at balls or galas with a toned figure - instead, she revelled in the finer, more domestic pleasures of life, like eating and drinking wine and enjoying the company of her lovers, and her body reflected this. 

So, to look at herself now, she felt an immense relief and satisfaction. She was who she felt she wanted to be - a young woman with a head on her shoulders and meat on her bones, who was also foxy as *fuck* when she wanted to be. 

And at this moment, she certainly wanted to be. 

So she eased those beautiful peach panties up over her rounded arse, feeling pleased when they couldn’t quite get all the way up. And she found herself a creamy silk negligee to wear, and it was a little tight around the tum and breasts, but otherwise satisfactory. 

Then she wrapped herself in her silk robe, dark red with eastern european embroidery of flowers. She spritzed herself with a scent - vanilla, sprayed judiciously around her nether regions and armpits - and she pulled her hair up into a loose bun, letting strands of hair around her face remain loose. 

Thus attired, she put on some slippers and left the bedroom. 

Severus was making a show of reading something on his computer, but he put it down immediately to appreciate the show she’d put on. 

“Don’t be too long,” Severus said, taking another bite of the nearly-finished chocolate tart. “Lest I suspect Neville has kidnapped you for all his own.” 

She approached him, and kissed him on the top of his head. Grumblingly, he wrapped his arm around her squashy waist, and he held her close, pressing his face into her soft belly. Then, with a swat to her butt, he urged her out the door. 

Hermione, for her part, was eager to attempt her next adventure. 

 

…………..

if you’re not entirely sure what Hermione might look like at this stage, you might enjoy checking out MyBodyGallery dot com - it’s a site I use for reference and sizing.


	72. graham plopp makes an appearance

Severus lay on the couch, pulling at one grey hair that he'd noticed this morning for the first time, his laptop humming warmly as it rested on his stomach. The purring rumble made him feel just a little bit better, even though he feared it was getting overheated from the fan being blocked. 

Damn and blast. Why ever did he agree to this polyamory shit anyway? He wanted Hermione back next to him, perched on her beautiful plump arse and cuddled against him while he browsed biochem journals on the internet. 

It took a lot of courage to remind himself that he - HE was responsible for getting them started on this path, not her. He hadn't been tricked. He hadn't been a victim. 

Yet, of course, he still felt like he was. And that was a problem. 

Frustrated with himself, he slammed the computer shut, then realized that all he had to do was fiddle with that damned grey hair, so he opened it again and stared absently at the files and folders on his desktop. 

It was strange how all these things seemed so natural to him these days, when ten years ago he'd scorned screens of all kinds. He supposed that he'd just learned how indispensable they were. What was that phrase Erika loved so much? "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." He didn't remember who she attributed it to. 

He thought about looking it up, but closed the browser as soon as he'd opened it. It suited him to think of this as being something Erika said, without polluting it with the knowledge of some crusty old miser like him who was likely the originator. 

What could he do, while Hermione was out sexing Neville Longbottom? 

He closed his eyes in pain, and opened them again immediately because the only thing he saw behind his eyelids was the image of them doing it. Longbottom, with his pasty arse and his perpetually terrified expression - oh, Hermione was certainly in for a treat, that was for sure. Would the boy know where even to look? Snape doubted it, and his lip curled at the thought of Longbottom failing to provide for his woman. 

His woman. No, Hermione wasn't his, same as Erika wasn't his, and Lily wasn't his. 

*Oh fuck, don't start down the Lily rabbit-hole; that way lies your particular breed of madness, Severus Snape.*

He decided he had to move, do something, so he slammed his computer shut again, got his big arse off the couch, and reached for his cloak. A brisk walk would do him well, and he'd be calmer once he got himself distracted. 

(This was what he told himself to get his lazy arse out the door to exercise, but it was a lie - same as it'd been for the past twenty-odd years. Even when he was as thin as a rail, and almost in perpetual motion with his insomnia, exercise didn't stop his brain from chewing on itself. Despite what the healers always told him.) 

He was saved from having to exert actual effort by the flashing of the floo, but he wasn't optimistic about the person on the other side. He lay his cloak over his arm and ambled over to the fireplace, where he accepted the call. 

A flashing, bold smile met him - one he hadn't seen for years, now. 

"Merlin," said the person on the other end - attempting to be friendly, but clearly putting on an act. Severus saw straight through it. He'd had to watch the man on the other end commit too many heinous acts in the Death Eaters to believe that the man was pleased to see Snape. "Have I got the wrong address?" 

"Perhaps," Severus said calmly, not relaxing a muscle, "what do you want?" 

His brain at once seemed clearer, sharper, and his observation was immediately more astute. Knowing what he did about biochemistry nowadays, he knew this was actually just the effect of adrenaline, which was linked to fear. 

Yes, this was certainly a man to be afraid of. 

"I was looking for Severus Snape?" asked Graham Plopp, and there was a jilting leer in the man's face as he looked Severus head to toe. 

Severus, for his part, had to fight the instinct to suck in his gut. There was no hiding it, that was for sure, and it'd only make him appear weak - give him a clear point of vulnerability that could be exploited. Instead, he crossed his arms and spread his legs, trying to give off the impression of being comfortable with his weight. 

"And have you found him?" Severus asked, not willing to grant Graham an inch. 

"I think so," Graham said, and then he laughed. "Golly, I had no idea you liked food so much, you never ate much of anything back in the old days." 

Severus simply stared, arching a brow. This was the best way to deal with Graham. He was remembering that, now. Things he thought he'd occulmenced far too deep in his memory to ever retrieve again - well, here they were, and serving him well once more. 

"Medical condition," Severus said, enunciating the words slowly as Graham entered a state of nervous backpedaling. This served to unsettle Graham even more, which was good. Scum such as Graham needed to be reminded, sometimes, of where they lay in the food chain, so to speak - far, far, below Severus. 

"Erm, yeah, sorry," Graham said, and then pressed onwards, seeing that he'd miscalculated his first move. Severus was gratified. He hadn't lost his touch, and it was such a pleasure to make someone *squirm* again. Well, erm, squirm in a way other than he made Hermione squirm. 

*shush* he told his mind firmly, and forced the thought far away before a blush and satisfied smirk could emerge on his face, he hoped. He'd never had a girlfriend while an active duty Death Eater, and he was realizing that the sensation of having a real, living, breathing person in one's life was thousands of ways different than having a cold, fading memory of a beloved. One way it was different was that with a real, living, breathing person in one's life - well, there were more cues for emotional triggers. The color of Graham's beard, for instance, was the exact shade of dark auburn brown that Hermione's pubic hair...

Ahem. He cleared his mind firmly, not indulging the thought for a second. 

And as he reflected on what had happened, within the hard-won peace in his mind, he began to feel scared. With his memories of Lily, the triggers were fewer, though at the same time, when his Lily triggers were pushed, catastrophe usually ensued. He desperately hoped that with Hermione, since the triggers were more plentiful, this would help mitigate the effect of when they got pushed. It wouldn't all erupt at once, but come out gradually at various moments in a more controlled fashion.

Otherwise, he was probably doomed. 

All this, of course, flashed through his brain in mere milliseconds - many more moments than it takes to read these thoughts spelled out on a page, much less write them.

In the end, Severus' face was carefully neutral, and he balanced himself firmly on both his feet. He felt some strain on his legs as he struggled to hold his weight, but it wasn't bad because he had been exercising regularly. It was just that he kept piling on the pounds faster than he could adjust to the new weight, unfortunately. He'd last clocked in at three hundred forty six or seven, and he needed - *needed* - to get his consumption under control lest he end up living on Hermione's couch, unable to move his overgrown body. 

"So what brings you to me?" Severus asked, and he felt his face grow serious again. He tried to control the worry he felt in the back of his mind, and he scolded himself internally for not having a better handle on his emotions. Not that scolding himself helped. Dammit why did he have such a martyr complex? 

"Nothing much," Graham said casually, "just heard that you're back on this side of the channel, and that you're starting a fun little Slug Club of your own." 

Severus snorted. "You've heard wrong." 

"A pity," Graham said, and seemingly unable to help himself, he jibed, "You certainly look the part." 

Severus returned this comment with a steady, blank look, and Graham seemed to think better of saying anything further on the subject. 

"So anyhow," Graham said, "I was wondering if you'd like an invitation to the Plopp holiday ball. I know you haven't had much of a chance to - catch up - with the others since you came home." 

"What others?" Severus asked sternly, suspiciously. "Lucius?" 

"No," Graham said, looking a bit sad. "The Malfoys have been strangely... absent from the community for a long time, now. Poor Lucius - Narcissa separated from him, hasn't been to the manor in years, so I hear. And Draco's been chronically ill. It's such a shame. I don't know if he'll make it another ten years, much less bear grandchildren for the Malfoy name." 

This was the first Severus had really heard of the Malfoys since his return to England, and while he outwardly frowned, part of him cheered up a great deal. The Malfoys weren't participating in the neo-conservative scene anymore? This was certainly a surprise, and probably spoke well for their good sense (collectively speaking). 

"So," Graham rattled on, "I know the war didn't end like we wanted it to, old boy." 

"I never wanted what you wanted," Severus said, his voice firm and unrepentant. 

"You did at one point, my friend," Graham said, and there was an insufferable twinkle in his eye that was far too much like Dumbledore's for Severus' liking. "And I remain faithful that someday you'll realize that we really do have your best interests at heart." 

"You never did, and never will," Severus said. 

There was nothing comedic in what he said, or the tone in which he said it, but Graham laughed uproariously in response. 

"I'm glad to see you're still the same old Snape, underneath all that gut," Graham said with apparent glee, and Severus just rolled his eyes. Really, the man was apparently trying to court his favor... and he had the temerity to make fat jokes? Was this guy for real? "So, can I send you an invitation to the ball? I think you'll be interested in what our local paperbodies have been up to, since the last election. Our people are very worked up about issues that I'm fairly certain we can agree upon." 

"I doubt it," Severus responded, "and don't send me anything unless you're willing to spend your galleons on kindling for my fire." 

"Good ol' Snape," Graham said, and he rang off laughing. 

As soon as the other man was off the floo line, Severus settled down and collapsed into the chair closest to the fire. What a miserable piece of work Graham was, and Severus was profoundly bothered by the whole conversation. 

Part of it was his feelings about Hermione, of course. But another part of it was the tingle and the rush of... what, exactly? Being on the edge of a civil war, dancing on the blade of the knife that was about to slice the country in half? 

Yes, he supposed, that was probably part of it. But there was also a deeper feeling, much more suppressed, but much more energizing than any other feeling he ever had in his life: the roar of his inner protector. 

Severus had, in many ways, always been drawn to being an assertive defense, rather than offense. Once it seemed - indeed, especially while Potter was in school - that he was compelled to do it because Potter was so fucking *stupid.* But years of separation from the boy had revealed that, indeed, it wasn't just how he reacted to Potter's thick-headedness. Severus had a bad habit of putting himself in harm's way on a lark, just to keep someone else from coming to harm. Not just Potter, he'd come to realize. Basically anyone stupid enough to get themselves into trouble. 

There was something Not Right about Graham, Severus realized. What on earth was the man doing, reaching out to Severus? Severus was not only a sainted member of the winning side of the war, but also fucking *betrayed the Death Eaters on behalf of a Muggleborn,* and who was currently fucking *dating a Muggleborn,* not that Graham knew that last one, of course. Why was Graham trying to get *him,* of all people, to come to some sappy ball with all the remaining liberated ex-Death Eaters who remained in wizarding Britain through sheer inertia? 

Severus didn't know, but some sense in him had reawakened after a long slumber. A sense that, no, this wasn't just paranoia - something deeply Wrong was happening. He could feel it like the tremors of an earthquake that hadn't happened yet. 

So, he didn't know if Graham would send an invitation. He suspected the other man was daft enough - or desperate enough - to do so. 

This wasn't getting back into spy work, Severus told himself firmly. Those days were long, long gone. He was too old, too tired, too fat, and again too tired for all that. But perhaps another problem or two to keep his mind occupied wouldn't be the worst thing. 

Also, a reason to get his muscles back to a place where they could manage his body more successfully. He didn't really care about losing weight - particularly since his overindulgence pleasured Hermione so much - but he felt an urgent need to restore his muscles to their former glory. He wanted to move with agility again, and he didn't need to be thin to do that - just practiced. 

So, he grabbed his cloak again, threw it around his shoulders, and tramped out of his flat, into the cold December air, trying to forget that his birthday was next month, trying to forget that he'd be turning forty eight, and trying to forget that the twenty-one-year divide between his age and Hermione's wouldn't be getting any smaller. And, incidentally, totally not related at all: trying to forget that she was spending her evening with a much, much younger and thinner man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> incidentally, totally not related at all: it's my birthdayyyyyyyyyyyyy. :)


	73. waltzing with neville

At Hermione’s knock, Neville opened the door and ushered Hermione into his bedroom. It was the same as ever, though much cleaner than the first time that Hermione had been there, since he had removed his ban on the house elves. 

Indeed, the place was spotless, aside from scattered rose petals that dotted the clean white bedspread. 

The place was lit only by candles, and Hermione noticed some incense burning. It smelled pleasantly of patchouli. 

“You look glorious,” Neville said, admiring Hermione’s attire with a sense of tranquil appreciation. “I was worried you changed your mind.” 

“No,” Hermione said, and smiled shyly. “Just got caught up in getting ready.” 

“It’s worth it,” Neville said with a sigh of satisfaction, and he gently offered his arm to her, like a dancer of sufficiently better skills than he had. 

She took his arm, and was expecting him to lead her to the bed - but instead he snapped his fingers, and Hermione heard the echoes of an orchestra echoing from the walls. 

“May I have this dance?” Neville asked, bowing low with the most sweet and dimpled smile she’d ever seen. 

“Of course,” she said, and she let herself be guided into his arms. He held her a little too far from him, as if afraid of breaking her, and his steps were consistently out of sync with the music. But despite these obstacles, she was enchanted by his efforts. 

Even more so by the soft, squishy flesh that she felt briefly as she grazed against him, and the knowledge that she was partially responsible for it being there. 

………..

Dancing with Neville soon gave way to a casual cuddle on the chaise lounge. Hermione collapsed onto it after starting to feel the waltzing in her calves, and Neville diligently massaged her feet and ankles. Then he started moving up her body, inching higher and higher up her legs, pushing away the folds of her clothes as he went. 

Inviting him to move even further up, Hermione grasped his hand, pulled her skirt farther up, and braced his hand against her thigh. Under her fingers, she herself relished the feeling of her own skin, combed with stretchmarks across it, and it was even softer than usual in the places where new growth had taken place. 

Oh yes, she did appreciate that tangible feeling that her skin had, that newfound evidence of her gluttony and sin. Though she had to admit, she wasn't thinking that much about it as she touched herself there, gently fondling the softness, her fingers running over the scars of stretching. The feel of her expanded skin was captivating, and she was interested to explore it with her fingers. It was as if she'd never grow tired of touching herself on her inner thigh - a place that was already so sensitive, and she exhilarated in the tingling sensation that came with admiring the body she had. 

"Kiss me," she begged, feeling her body tense in all the right places. 

Neville kissed her with a tender, lingering kiss. Hesitantly ran his fingers over her thigh too, though she was certain he didn't enjoy it as she did. There was something too hesitant, too experimental about how he touched her. It was as if he were admiring a statue that had appeared in his bedroom overnight, delicately contemplating it and appreciating it. But certainly not fucking it, like she wanted. 

He did kiss her, however, at her command. His breath came short, and he had been chewing on licorice before she came in because he tasted of anise and chicory. It was pleasant, though a bit distracting - she tried to instead focus her mind on the way that his palm was softening, the loose skin around his fingers was tightening as he began to fill in his undernourished parts. 

And she hinted at what she wanted with her fingers. Unsubtly, she wrapped her fingers around his hand until he was flaccidly cupping the flab of her thigh. With a firmness, she urged his fingers until he was grabbing at her there, kneading at her skin like unrisen dough. 

He sharply intook his breath, and then seemed to be holding it. She looked at his face closely, feeling her lust rising in her body with a roar of Gryffindor passion, and tried to memorize what she saw there. 

Neville's face was colored beet red, and his eyes were wide. His pupils were dilated, and he seemed on the verge of panic. At the same time, he seemed to be talking himself down from this panic, and he swallowed hoarsely. 

"Come on," Hermione said, and she tipped her head in what she imagined was a seductive fashion. "Show me what you did to Ginny Weasley." 

He seemed a bit surprised at this, but as he registered her wishes, he nodded slowly. "I guess we can start there." 

"Then we'll be continuing your education," Hermione said with a smirk, and she moved away from him slowly, disentangling their limbs and spreading her legs wide in an accommodating fashion. 

............ sexytimes on Ao3 ........... 

She felt her body land on what seemed to be a thousand pillows, and she removed a few of them, throwing them to the ground. They were silky and slippery, and new - she'd never seen them before, and assumed Neville must have gotten them special for tonight. 

She removed those aforementioned peach pants, which were lacy and inviting. It was a little awkward, and her pooching belly got a bit in the way as she leaned forward and slipped them off as best she could. 

Neville's eyes widened as he saw Hermione's unshaved nether regions, and she parted her labias with two fingers from her right hand, and let a single finger move seductively up and down on her clit. 

There was interest there in his brown eyes, and he pressed his hand against his mouth as he blushed again. 

"Come on," Hermione said, spreading her legs a tiny bit wider. "What do I have to do to get some attention around here?" 

"Oh, erm," Neville attempted to respond. But he seemed to think better of saying anything, and he slipped off the chaise lounge instead, and he got on his bended knees. 

"That's right," Hermione whimpered as she watched him get into position, and she let her body relax and she closed her eyes, trying to keep her expectations low. 

Well, her expectations were low, but she was overwhelmed. 

What Neville lacked in experience, he seemed to make up for in enthusiasm. After a few hesitant, delicate licks to her clit, he seemed to take courage and charged straight into her cunt. 

There were teeth. There was tongue. There was sucking, hard and soft, both in eloquent variation. 

Lick, lick lick. His tongue wasn't practiced, but he seemed to be drinking her in desperately, hungrily, as if she were the fountain of youth and he were a dying man. 

Oh yes, this was what she'd been hoping for, some small part of her brain acknowledged. You were hoping that this man would be good by virtue of his sheer desperation. 

And in some part, she was right. 

But he'd clearly put some thought into this, it wasn't as if he were going in quite as blind as he appeared on the face of it. Somehow his powerful hunger had led him to do some research, and that research seemed to have been fruitful. 

He lightly chewed on her labia, running it across the tops of his teeth by moving his mouth upwards and downwards. It was a sharp, ribbed sensation, and while it wasn't something she'd like all the time, the way he varied this between his enthused sucking and his hungry licking made it craveable. 

She felt her vagina tense with a need for penetration, and soon enough she waved Neville away from her vagina. It was perfectly timed on her part, because he seemed to be fatigued; he was rubbing the lower corner of his jaw thoughtfully. 

"Now for the best bit," she said, giving him his wand. 

He seemed unaware of what to do with it, and he appeared delightfully perplexed until she began to guide him through the motions of preparing himself to enter her. She practically tore off his trousers and pants, and he basically stood there appearing stunned and out of breath, watching her move. 

But watching her seemed to be what he needed, because when his pants finally came off, his cock was ramrod straight. 

And oh hell, if Severus was well-hung, Neville was inconceivably well hung. His dick was girthy and full, which was her preferred size, and just an inch or two longer than Severus. Not as long as lanky as Ron, who was her other basis of comparison. 

His pubic fat was droopy and not plump, and it sagged. Not unlike his belly, which she could see peeking from underneath his shirt. 

She reached up to remove said shirt, but Neville shook his head, and she didn't try and persuade him otherwise. He seemed to already be having a hard enough time with this. 

A short spurt of lube later, and the necessary anti-pregnancy spells completed, Neville was ready to go. 

His face was worried as he contemplated her. 

"Are you going to be all right with this?" he asked, seemingly worried. 

"Are *you?*" she responded, because honestly she knew he was asking himself the question. 

He looked grim. "I hope so." 

Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he parted her labia and gently stuffed himself inside her body. 

The fullness and length of him was... well, all Hermione could think of was that he was *perfect.* Perfectly sized, perfectly shaped, and hitting all the right spots. She came instantly with a few strokes of him, and as she cried out, he removed himself hastily. 

"Are you all right?" he asked, looking overwhelmed with concern. 

"Yes," hissed Hermione, "this is good - get back in there!" 

Still looking as if he didn't believe her, he entered her again, and she tried to keep her composure a little better in order not to frighten him. 

Oh gods. She couldn't believe that he felt so good inside her. There was so much of him inside her, she could scarcely keep her head oriented to reality. It felt as if she were embracing stars, absorbing their fire and radiating it outside of her own body. 

Too soon, though, she felt Neville shudder and fall against her, breathing heavily. 

"Sorry," he murmured as he pulled himself out slowly, and got up with a bleariness in his eyes. "Did I hurt you?" 

"Not at all," she responded with a hoarse whisper, "No, not at all." 

He still looked concerned, and she grabbed his hand. "Come here," she whispered, and dragged him down to lay beside her. 

Neville's breath was still constricted as he lay down next to her and wrapped his arms around her at her guiding hand's insistence. "How was I?" he asked, sounding somewhat numb. 

"You were excellent," Hermione said, and she kissed him on the cheek. "How was I?" 

"Oh gods," Neville responded, and he began laughing giddily. "I'm sorry," he said between gasps, "I just... I mean... I just..." 

"You just what?" Hermione asked, tilting her head and looking at him seriously. 

"I just... just fucked Hermione Granger," Neville said, sounding star-struck. "I can't believe it, but I did. If only my thirteen-year-old self could see me now." 

Hermione responded by hugging him close. "Yes," she responded, kissing him on the cheek. "And I just fucked Neville Longbottom. If only my thirteen-year-old self could see me now." 

Neville laughed aloud, "It's not the same," he said, but didn't elaborate. "But thank you." 

..................

Hermione returned to Severus' flat, and found him laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, his hands steepled upon his massive belly. 

"Are you all right?" she asked as she entered the room with a knock. 

"Passable," Severus said, and sat up with a sense of alertness. "Went out for a bit." 

"I feel it," Hermione said, and approached him. He was still wearing his outer cloak from outside, and with a silent request (and his silent permission by way of a nod) she lay down next to him on the bed. 

"Could use some warmth," he reported, and he sounded very detached and clinical. 

"Yes, it seems so," Hermione said, and she summoned a throw blanket from the foot of the bed and draped it across him, carefully tucking in the corners around his arse and legs. Then, she wrapped her own arms around him, and kissed his cold cheek. "You're practically frozen through." 

He turned his face, and stared into her eyes. His lips were flat, and his face was neutral, but she could tell he was doing his best to keep certain feelings from emerging. 

"You're warm, though," he said, and he kissed her gently on the cheek. 

Hermione, for her part, let her own lips silently find Severus' stiff cold ones in the dark, and she let her hot tongue grace them. 

"A bit," she whispered with a darker, throatier voice than she usually used, and she let her tongue do the rest of the talking. 

Severus seemed to be slow to respond, but as she communicated her continued passion and love for him through her kiss, he reciprocated fiercely and devotedly.

 

 

..........  
music for this chapter: moskva cheryomushki opus 105, part II: waltz.


	74. Libertine salon

The day of the 22nd of December came suddenly, as might a woman finally getting the engine service she so desperately needed. 

 

Hermione futzed around in the bedroom, playing around with her outfit. She wasn't entirely sure what manner of party this was going to be, exactly, so she dressed in layers. For her dress, she wore a soft black velvet ball gown, graced with dainty red rosettes and feathered trim. The bust was lace, and in the dim light it seemed to melt into her expansive, wide cleavage. Her belly was tightly corseted, which was the single disadvantage of this dress, but there certainly wasn't hiding how substantial she was. Instead, her weight was smoothly distributed across her abdomen, with a telltale bulge below her waist that was a hint of the sumptuousness that hid beneath. Also, there wasn't any way her corseting was going to hide her softly rounded arms, defined double chin, and her gorgeous plump arse. 

 

There was a substantial train following her every step, which had always been a look she enjoyed. And as was the Victorian style, her arse was featured well in the getup, enhanced ever so slightly by bustle. She felt regal and poised, and divine in a queenly way, with her hair twisted into a complex updo that she'd gotten done in Hogsmeade that morning. She wasn't a little girl dressing up as a princess, that was for sure - no one could mistake her for anything but a mature, enormously beautiful woman. And that made her feel confident. 

 

She'd also had her makeup done, and while the mascara was a bit itchy for her taste (apparently wizards hadn't figured out a way to prevent that particular quirk of makeup!), the magical setting meant that she could rub her eyes as much as she liked and the makeup wouldn't come off until she wanted it off. The beautician hadn't exactly taken her at her word when she told him she wanted a 'natural' look, and instead her eyeshadow game was almost more fierce than her dress. 

 

All in all, the effect was impressive, though she worried slightly about being overdressed. But she set up a final review of her outfit, casting a spell she'd recently found that created a mirror tunnel. The dim candlelight of her room made the mirror sparkle as she walked through it, slowly and deliberately, and she decided that she looked pretty damn hot, if she said so herself. 

 

Then, below her gown, lay the secrets of her lingerie. The aforementioned corset was of silk the color of mulberries, rich and mysterious in its black lace trim and burnished silver clasps. Her stockings were fishnet, which she'd always wanted to try and wear but never had the courage to do before. She still was stuck feeling like she shouldn't be wearing them over her thick, curvaceous thighs because the gridding seemed a little too stretched. But damn it, no one would probably be seeing it anyway, and they felt so sensual on her skin in how tightly they cradled her thigh flab... their tightness was indeed a pleasurable feeling. They swaddled her legs, but also her tum, which protested at the way the top of the tights rolled in a cord around her soft belly. She knew there'd be some tenderness and redness there on her stomach, after this evening, but she relished the feeling just a bit. She was too fat for stockings to really fit anymore, no matter what size they claimed to fit, which gave her a rush of sexual energy every time she remembered that. 

 

Underneath the corset and stockings came the piece de resistance - a pair of edible "crushed velvet" underwear that was supposed to taste like cotton candy. It smelled like roses, and until Hermione put on the stockings, she found her fingers edging towards her nether regions more than once, just to feel the fabric against her fingertips and clit. 

 

She double checked that she was conforming to the rules of seven items: corset, pants, stockings, dress, boots (she supposed they counted as one), a delicate black choker around her neck, and a garnet hairpin that held her tresses in place. 

 

But! Now she was dressed, and she was ready, and there was no reason to delay any further. She put on a spritz of perfume - a blend of vanilla and spices, that made her smell appealingly like Christmas pudding - and exited her room. 

 

Severus was waiting for her in the living room, a newspaper and a biscuit in either hand. Well, several biscuits, as it happened. He was scarfing them down hurriedly. Dinner was supposed to be served at the party, but it was already a bit past their usual dinnertime, and the man was clearly hungry. 

 

"Oh, you silly," said Hermione fondly, and approached him from behind and embraced him in a hug that was eighty percent boobs, and twenty percent arm. This was sufficient to distract the man from his food and newspaper, and he put down the biscuits and turned his head to admire his glowing partner. 

 

"I am silly," he said, dropping the newspaper onto the couch next to him and wrapping a warm strong arm around her waist. "So silly to think that I can safely take you out of this flat and watch you flounce around - in that *superbly* inviting dress - without fucking you first." 

 

"We're already late," Hermione said with a grin. "And we already fucked today, before I got dressed." 

 

"But that was post-lunch fucking," Severus whinged good-humoredly. "Now we need a pre-party fucking." 

 

"I know," Hermione said, and sharply intook her breath as Severus began to nuzzle his face into her cleavage and lick her breasts tenderly. "Oh. Gods. If you keep that up, we won't be going, because I will have creamed my knickers most horribly." 

 

"And would that be such a *terrible* thing?" Severus smirked (well, she couldn't see it, given his face was fully appreciating her bosom, but she could hear it in his voice, and feel it in the lust of his hot breaths on her skin.) 

 

"Not at all," Hermione said, "but we did buy these new clothes, at moderately great expense." 

 

With great and obvious reluctance, Severus removed his face from her breasts. His eyes were closed, and his face was calm, as if still appreciating her aromas. Hermione laid a hand on his head and smoothed some of his wayward strands of hair. 

 

He himself looked exceptional. He wore a double-breasted waistcoat - his favorite type, apparently - and it was incredibly snug as it stretched along his ponderous tum. It was of green silk, and the dragon-like snakes upon it seemed to dance in the light, even though the fabric rumpled over his roundness. He wore a formal black tailcoat, which was also as snug and tight as it could be upon him without restricting his movement, and a paisley ascot of an even darker green. His collar was high and well-starched, crisp and white as could be, and his hair had been trimmed to slightly below the ears. 

 

He looked as plump and huggable as a stuffed doll, and Hermione leaned forward (as best she could with the corset) to brush the telltale crumbs off his protruding belly. 

 

"Now, if you're ready," she purred, patting him on his nice soft tum once she'd finished her ministrations, "I believe we'd better be off." 

 

With a heaving sigh, Severus stood, extended his arm to her, and the pair of them left the flat for the mysterious party. 

 

................

 

Hermione hadn't known what to expect, but she hadn't anticipated *quite* a gathering as they found. 

 

The Room of Requirement - where, indeed, the party was held - was decorated with sumptuous red velvet chaise-lounges and loveseats. Dark oak tables groaned with strange and exotic dishes. A yuletide tree sat squarely in the center of the round room, providing privacy and light at once. Rich red wine, port, and sherry were placed strategically on side tables, as well as holiday biscuits. 

 

And, well, around twenty people were already there. Some were chatting in intimate tete-a-tetes, lounging with glasses of wine in hand. One or two sat by themselves, reading by the light of the yule tree. And more than a couple were making themselves *quite* at home, in the sense that they were snogging deliciously. Notably, there was no mistletoe to be seen. 

 

"Welcome to the Libertine Salon! Make yourselves comfortable," urged Madam Pince as she led them into the room, showing them where pairs of shoes were lined up neatly by the door. She was dressed in a flowing long dress of poppy-red, with sleeves that danced with every motion she made, and a handkerchief hem that seemed gauzy and festive. In short, she seemed a whirlwind of color compared to her normal conservative Victorian garb. 

 

Severus immediately took off his shoes, scanning the room warily, but before he could roam towards the food table, Hermione touched his arm. 

 

"I can't bend over in this dress," she said with a whisper, "would you be so kind as to help with my boots?" 

 

"Of course," he said, and with great effort he lowered himself into a squat. Hermione lifted her skirt, and Severus bent forward and began to take apart the intricate winding of her shoes. 

 

"Since you are late," Madam Pince said with a sniff of disdain, "let me explain to you the rules. Percy!" she barked, and out of apparently nowhere, Percy Weasley emerged from a dark corner, looking exceptionally nervous. His shoes were still on. 

 

"Now let me begin," the librarian said stiffly, "by stating unequivocally that: these walls are sacred. Nothing you see here has ever happened. Nothing you hear has been said. All that you taste, touch, sense, and feel here is forbidden and special, and if I ever hear word that there is any politicking or other unpleasantness among my members, you will not be invited again. You may fraternize among yourselves outside of these walls as long as all parties provide their explicit permission within these walls." 

 

"Strict confidentiality," Severus murmured approvingly. "Understood." 

 

"If you cannot abide by these terms," the librarian said, staring at Percy with suspicion, "you are invited to leave at this time." 

 

"I understand," Percy said. He looked incredibly frightened, as if he'd bitten off far more than he could chew. 

 

"Moreover," Madam Pince said, "The rules for participation are as follows: You are permitted to read the books, as long as there is NO SCRIBBLING IN THE BOOKS," she said, staring at both Severus and Hermione with the passion of a tigress protecting her kin. "If someone is reading, take it upon yourself not to disturb them. Also, freely consume the food and drink, but drunkenness is frowned upon severely." 

 

She stared specifically at Severus for this last bit, which surprised Hermione only a shade. 

 

"Then, most importantly," Madam Pince said with a sniff, "given that this affair is not conventional in any sense of the word, it is exceedingly important that you ask for a person's permission before taking it upon yourself to treat them - and yourself - to a pleasurable thing. For example..." 

 

She bent down at the knees - it was like watching a very angular crane crouch - and hovered her hand over Severus' buttock. He turned his head sharply from where he crouched, still untangling Hermione's boots, and stared straight at Irma. 

 

"It would not be prudent for me to simply touch Severus' bottom, no matter how inviting it might be," Irma said, and she continued to hold her hand near it (but not touching). Her angular, knotted fingers seemed desperate to touch him, but she refrained. "It would be prudent of me to ask, 'Severus, may I touch you here?' and then proceed according to his will. So, Severus, may I touch you here?" 

 

Severus was ramrod still for a moment, but then with a jerking motion of his chin, he gave his consent. Then he turned his head back to the task of Hermione's boots.

 

"Ah," Madam Pince said with a toothy grin. Her darkly lipsticked lips pulled back and revealed a smile that was slightly unsettlingly wide. "You must answer the question aloud, Severus, or it does not count." 

 

"Yes, you may," grumbled Severus, who didn't even bother to look up again. But the touch of pinkness in his cheeks told an interesting story indeed. 

 

Irma Pince proceeded get on her knees, and, with a fervor of short puce-colored nails, to grasp Severus' luscious buttocks with both her hands. Her palms met the base of his arse, and her spindly fingers stretched across his arse in a delicate web of flesh. "Ahh," she breathed, and she herself became visibly more relaxed. "That is wonderful. Do you like that?" 

 

"Erm," Severus responded noncommittally. The color in his cheeks was spreading, and he seemed to be reddening quite a bit. 

 

"Say yes, or no," Irma said, her voice soft and coaxing. "Otherwise I will stop immediately." 

 

Severus didn't say anything, and as she'd said, Irma withdrew her hands and stood. "Did I do something wrong, or hurt you in any way?" she asked, though clearly she knew she hadn't. 

 

"No," he said, and Hermione could see that he was breathing rapidly. He patiently finished the knots in Hermione's boots, grasped the ends, and helped her get each one off. Then, he stood with a huff of breath, and faced Irma. His face was remarkably blank. 

 

"Would you like to do it again?" asked Irma, and there was a smirk on her bewitching face. 

 

"Yes," Severus said glibly, as easily as if he were agreeing to a midnight snack, "but with Hermione." 

 

"Of course," Madam Pince said, and smiled coyly at Hermione, as if she knew all of Hermione's secrets. "Do you care to join us, Hermione?" 

 

"Yes," Hermione said, feeling a bit excited but also very, very curious. 

 

"Then let's be off," Irma said, extending her arm to Severus. He accepted it, and allowed himself to be steered towards a dark corner. "Remember," Irma called to Percy as they walked away from him, "There is no such thing as forgiveness, here, if you did not ask for permission." 

 

As they walked, Irma touched the arm of a large, burly man with muscles that seemed unhappily confined to formal dress. He was sitting on the edge of a loveseat and trying not to stare at anyone in particular, and he appeared awkward. "Francisco, would you be a dear and introduce that sweet young thing to the party?" Irma gestured at Percy. "It's his first time at the Salon." 

 

Francisco eyed Percy, and then nodded approvingly. "Gladly," he said, standing. He clearly was a half-giant, but a lot less soft and cuddly than Hagrid. Also a lot more dapper - his hair was full of styling pomade, and he had a fierce handlebar mustache in lieu of a fuzzy beard. "Yes," he said, assessing Percy's diplomatic, thin but flabby body, "gladly." He then stalked towards the front of the room with a bit of bounce in his step. 

 

"Poor man," Irma confided as they walked, "He and his partner just ended things, and it's such a tragedy because they fit so well together. The only reason I invited *that* young one is because I hope he and Francisco might hit it off. But one can never tell." 

 

Hermione scanned the room as they walked through it. It almost was as if Irma was trying to impress them, give them some sort of tour. Well, it was working. 

 

This was probably the most diverse place Hermione had ever seen in the wizarding world. People of all shades and colors were present, of all sizes and shapes, and while there weren't many large people in the room, neither Severus nor Hermione was the largest - that title went to an exceptionally grand middle-aged woman who took up nearly an entire couch, and she was surrounded by several others who were very interested in her. A couple of these folks' heads did turn when Hermione and Severus walked by, however, and one round-faced woman waved. 

 

As they walked away, Hermione realized with a shock that the round-faced woman was Madam Pomfrey. The school's healer was scarcely recognizable when she wasn't wearing her crisp hospital wing gown. Instead, now she was wearing an opulent creamy orange duster with velvet flowers, loosely covering a loose-fitting black peasant gown, and her hair was down. Her hair, when it wasn't in a bun, was *exceptionally* long, Hermione observed, like Botticelli's Venus. 

 

They stopped when they encountered Horace Slughorn on a massage table. He was clothed, and chattering away with Rolanda Hooch as she briskly eased the muscles in the large man's back. He was face-down and clearly enjoying the experience, while it seemed just as evident that Rolanda was in need of some relief. 

 

"I might be back after midnight," Horace said, "I really don't feel like you can get that spot with my jacket on." 

 

"Then I'll see you then, if I have time," Rolanda said firmly, and she patted him on the buttocks. "You're done for now." 

 

"Thank you, my dear girl," Horace said, and he slipped off the table very gingerly. 

 

Hermione was impressed at Horace's bulk. Since the end of the war, it seemed that Horace had dedicated his mind single-handedly to one thing: the consumption of food. As a result, he was significantly rounder than the last time she'd seen him... and Horace was the kind of person who put on pounds like trees put on rings. 

 

His eyes widened in delight as he saw Hermione and Severus. "My my, isn't this a fine thing," he said with buttery, earnest pleasantness. "Severus I'm not surprised to finally see you here - Irma always was enchanted by you - but Hermione? I should have known there was more than the standard goody-goody gumdrops, am I right, my dear?" 

 

Hermione was more interested to see how Severus responded to the 'Irma always was enchanted by you' statement than anything else. But Severus remained silent, as he did when he was assessing a situation. Hermione spotted him keenly glance in Irma's direction, and she was determinedly looking at Horace. 

 

"And Severus, m'boy," Horace went on, "it looks like life has been treating you well, and a long time coming it has been!"

 

"Yes," Severus responded, and there was an actual appearance of honesty in his face. Also, a sense of actual respect for the other man. "A long time coming." 

 

"I can tell," Slughorn said with a twinkle in his eye, "because finally, you've got a little bit of something stuck to the ribs! May I offer you my enthusiastic congratulations? I always was so worried; a clever young man like you deserves to have some goodness in life. Are you two...?" He gestured between Hermione and Severus, and they both nodded at once. And then met each others' eyes for the slightest of seconds before they both turned back to their former teacher. 

 

"Clever one, this girl," Slughorn said, and a faraway look emerged in his eye. "Clever one indeed, eh Severus?" 

 

"She isn't Lily," Severus said, and at first Hermione wasn't sure what kind of tone was attached to the words - despondency or resilience - until he followed up with, "She's quite a different person." 

 

"Of course she is," Slughorn said, and grinned marvelously. "Practically single-handedly saved the wizarding world, didn't you?" 

 

"I mean," Hermione tried to correct him, but he put a chubby finger to his lips. 

 

"Shh," he said, "Don't do yourself the discredit of being humble with me, my dear," Slughorn whispered, with a tap to his nose. "This world has far too men blathering about the achievements they couldn't have made without the support of the women behind them. Besides," he went on, "everyone knows you practically did it all. Just bask, my dear, and or you'll appear ungrateful when people compliment you."

 

Normally, Hermione rankled at people offering unsolicited advice. But Slughorn had once been her teacher - and an effective one, at that - and there was something so undeniably good-intentioned and sensible about what he said that she couldn't bring herself to argue. 

 

"So," Irma said, a bit coldly, "would you mind, Horace? We were about to indulge ourselves on the table." 

 

"My, my," Horace said, and he smiled openly at Hermione. "I don't think you realize, my dear, but Irma's been waiting to get her claws into Severus Snape since he first made his debut back to the school as a teacher. Usually, she is not nearly so... forward."

 

"Not so," Irma said primly, while Horace and Rolanda snickered in disbelief. She patted the empty massage table and offered Severus a stool to step up onto it. "I may have been interested in inviting Severus to our gatherings during his first year of teaching, but that was only until I learned that he had the unfortunate habit of drink." 

 

Severus scoffed, and sat upon the table, but refused to lay down. Instead, he stared at Irma. "Who told you that?" 

 

"You did," Irma said primly, looking pleased as punch to finally have a conversation with the taciturn potions master, "when you'd come into the library of an evening, breath stinking to hell, and head straight to the restricted section without a word to me at all." 

 

Horace and Rolanda seemed overcome with amusement, and were watching with bated breath. 

 

Hermione wasn't finding this funny at all. 

 

"That was - literally - one time," Severus said, between gritted teeth. 

 

"Not so," Irma responded coolly. "I counted. It was over a dozen times." 

 

"Maybe in that first year," Severus responded, looking no less fierce. "But certainly not after that." 

 

"Perhaps not," Irma conceded, and then, with a coy smile, and a slight (barely discernible) trembling of the jaw, she said: "Kiss me?" 

 

"No," Severus said, frowning and assessing the other woman. "Are you purposefully baiting me?" 

 

"What," Irma said. Her demeanor changed, and she seemed a little bit taken aback. "Is that not something you like?" 

 

"No, it's not," Severus said, and suddenly the entire atmosphere of their small group changed. While Rolanda and Horace seemed to be laughing at Irma's unrequited passions, they hadn't been expecting this turn of vulnerability from Severus. "It's not something I like." 

 

"Then my apologies," Irma said, and she ducked her head in sincerity. "I... I always just thought that you always did it because you were..." 

 

"Flirting?" Severus asked, and there was a gentleness to his tone - a gentleness tinged with regret. "No. At least, not really. Any of those times that I... was less than charitable towards you, Irma... that was my folly, not attempts at endearment." 

 

This seemed to have turned into a conversation of vast import to the two of them, and Horace offered his arm to Hermione as Rolanda disappeared into the shadows without a word. "Let's get us a little something, shall we, m'dear?" he asked. 

 

"All right," Hermione said, and she went along with Slughorn. 

 

Predictably they ended up at the food table. 

 

"Irma really does a splendid job with these things," Slughorn said, plating himself a vast quantity of delicacies, "nothing she serves here is served by the house-elves ordinarily. All of it is special, that is for certain." 

 

"I'm impressed," Hermione said, but the jubilant mood she'd been having had gone away. She cast a glance at Severus and Irma, who seemed to be talking seriously. Irma had seated herself on the table next to Severus, and he was offering her a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. 

 

"Don't worry about them," Slughorn said, observing Hermione's anxiety. "Severus is a good boy, though no one else ever seems to think so. He'll always do right by you - or try to, at any rate. But those two have been sniping at each other for twenty years, and Irma's social skills aren't exactly tops, so there's some catching up that needs to happen." 

 

"You're -really- good at reading people," Hermione found herself saying, and she put some food on her own plate, trying to quell her nerves. She wasn't sure what she was nervous about, exactly, but somehow Slughorn's sage patience was helpful. "How do you do that?" 

 

"Ah, well," the man said, and sighed. "Would you believe that I traded it from a fairy king in exchange for... my soul?" 

 

Hermione stared at him disbelievingly. 

 

"Would you believe," Slughorn said, popping a tiny cocktail sausage into his mouth, "...a hundred million galleons?" 

 

Hermione maintained the incredulous expression on her face. 

 

"Would you believe... a couple of chocolate frogs?" 

 

Hermione laughed out loud. 

 

"Ah, it's no good, you see," Slughorn went on, "Ask a silly question, m'dear, get a silly answer, is what I always say." 

 

Feeling slightly better, Hermione found herself a few more bites, and she moved with Slughorn towards some exquisitely comfortable red velvet chairs. They were of the wider variety, but Slughorn still fit into it like a hand into a glove. He then proceeded to eat, with gusto. 

 

"So I'm glad to see that you've ripened up a bit, yourself," Horace said, taking a bite into what looked like a kind of pheasant or game hen. "A nourished body is a nourished soul, I always say." 

 

"So it would seem," Hermione said, realizing that this conversation seemed to be going in distinctly one direction. 

 

"No need to be shy, m'dear," Slughorn said, comfortably settling deeper into his chair. "It's certainly natural to put on a few when times are peaceful. I myself appreciate a person with more Reubenesque beauty, as the Muggles say." 

 

Hermione didn't know how to respond, but she smiled a bit and found her eyelashes fluttering. "You certainly seem well-fed, too." 

 

"Very well fed," Slughorn replied triumphantly, and rubbed his stomach appreciatively. "Largeness has always been, to me, a symbol of prosperity. Of comfort. Of goodness expanding throughout the world." He winked and took a healthy sip of wine. 

 

"I feel that way as well," Hermione said, breathing a sigh of relief. Was it really just that easy and simple, to find people who appreciated her in her larger size? She felt incredibly lucky, if not a bit stunned. Before she could think about her words more, the following question tumbled out of her mouth: "Do you find that you appreciate the... more sensual elements of largeness as well?" 

 

"Yes," Slughorn said, and he rested one hand very distinctly on the lower half of his belly, massaging one of the rolls there. "Fat is the most sensual thing I know of." 

 

He gazed piercingly into Hermione's eyes, and they met with mutual understanding. 

 

"That's a nice way of putting it," Hermione said. She glanced towards Severus and Irma, and saw that the other pair had proceeded to gentle touching, with Severus laying flat on the massage table while Irma grasped his fleshy parts with aching desperation. 

 

Since Severus seemed to be enjoying himself, there seemed no reason why not do so with Horace. 

 

With a small smile, she switched from a chair opposite Slughorn to one immediately next to him. 

 

She put down her plate and gestured to the game hen. "Would you like some help with that?" 

 

"Most certainly," Slughorn breathed, and Hermione picked up her fork and started to feed the man. 

.......................................

 

 

 

 

(Note: for those who care about that sort of thing, Hermione's ball gown reference can be found at my favorite reproduction clothing website, Recollections dot biz, "velvet ball gown." Irma's gown is from the same website and is called "Theadora." Those who care about this sort of thing probably also care about what Sev was wearing, so consider this to be the best approximation: "Outfit 100 - Late Victorian Formal" on GentlemansEmporium. It's also ridiculously hard to find photos of *actually* portly men in Victorian garb, which is very frustrating.)


	75. slughorn the snake

Slughorn had the patient way of a man who had already satiated his hunger and was just experimenting with the way different flavor a felt on his tongue. It had an allure for Hermione; clearly he wasn't worried about where his next meal was coming from, and that was incredibly sexy. Hermione found herself carefully considering the bites she chose for him, even more than she usually did with Severus. Severus was a glutton, and immediacy was his preferred poison, only playing with hesitation and waiting as a means of making his satisfaction more powerful. Slughorn was a gourmand, and it showed in the preciseness of the plate he had put together for himself. It wasn't heaped haphazardly with edibles, as per the desperate hunger of Severus. Instead, Slughorn arranged his plate with meticulous choices. All his foods were kept distinctly separate from each other, spread across his plate in a circular pattern that was actually artistic. His servings were generous, but far from overwhelming. Indeed, the portions were certainly not enough to deduce the immense proportions of the plate's owner, on their own. But Hermione knew from years of being his student that Horace Slughorn was an Olympic champion of grazing, and any modesty in his selectivity was simply due to the fact that he was merely topping off an already overfull tank. 

 

Hermione thus took her cues from him, and when she carefully speared the fork into tiny cocktail sausages (apparently made from exotic meats like rattlesnake and boa constrictor), she took care to stick her fork in a symmetrical fashion, and always place it in his mouth in a tidy way. 

 

Moreover, she discovered that Slughorn was a gourmand in other ways as well. "Diversity is the spice of life, m'dear," he said tactfully after she had served him three tiny sausages in a row. 

 

She took the hint, and never gave him the same bite twice in a row after that. 

 

Slughorn was shaped differently from Severus. Unlike Severus, whose fat distribution was uneven - mostly it went to his stomach, though a good portion went elsewhere - Slughorn had rounded out until he was practically a spherical ball of flab. His clothing was loose on him at places, as if providing extra room to grow, and this added to the illusion of him looking like a big balloon of a human being. 

 

Hermione could scarcely imagine a more comfortable looking man, though at the same time it wasn't as if the extra pounds he had on Sev made him extra attractive to her. Fundamentally, she didn't like Slughorn like she liked Severus. Slughorn was so much more... Hufflepuffy? Yes, that seemed right. She had called him a sycophantic arse to Ron, relatively recently, and she still thought he was one. But while she still found him insufferable, she found herself oddly charmed by him, now that she was an adult. Particularly - he was an adult that was engaging with her in a sexually enthralling way. 

 

She glanced over at Irma and Severus, and saw that Severus seemed to have melted into the massage table, his hair a mess and his limbs relaxed. Irma's face was focused, and she was smiling faintly, scrutinizing (admiring?) Severus' body. 

 

"She always knew he wasn't available yet for a relationship," Horace said, as if reading her thoughts. "Irma just didn't know what to do when he came back. She thought he was dead, same as all of us. And when he did come back, it was hard for her to understand that he might have grown up a bit in the intervening years."

 

"That is, until I started dating him openly?" Hermione said, and she found herself smirking. 

 

"It seems so," Horace said amiably. "Her crush has been an open secret for decades now. She took to wearing black all the time since his supposed death. That woman has an ability for fixation, unlike any other person I've met. " 

 

He smiled, and accepted another bite, this one of an aspic filled with unidentifiable fruits. "I think she thought she was going to be the one to fix him, after the war," he added, putting a hand on his expansive stomach thoughtfully, "but his supposed death put a wrench in that plan." 

 

He shook his head. "But I knew she was never the right one. She never has been strong enough. Not in the right ways." 

 

This was certainly a compliment - and, Hermione felt, it was a genuine one. 

 

In response, she gave him some caribou bacon. 

 

"Ah," he sighed, as he chewed the strip of fatty meat. His breath was warm, and smelled of smoke and a touch of whiskey. And his blubbery lips pursed as he chewed, as if moving the flavor to the front of his tongue. His walrus mustache - always so intimidating - seemed to take on a different hue in this light, and it looked soft and peltlike, and almost feminine, like a woman's fox stole. 

 

He seemed to see the way she was appreciating him - she was sure it was obvious - and he raised his tumbler of fire whiskey to her lips. "Have a sip," he said, and elaborated by raising the glass to her lips. 

 

She sipped, and sighed. "That's amazing," she said, appreciating the flavor all the more carefully since he was watching her try it. "And clearly very old. Dare I ask its origins?" 

 

He grimaced and held the glass to the light, turning it with appreciation. "This was flavored with the tears of tortured fire sprites in the medieval era, back when torturing fire sprites was socially acceptable - and, perhaps more importantly, legal." 

 

Hermione's stomach turned, and she felt vaguely ill. But her tongue craved more of that sweet, powerful stuff. 

 

"There are only a few cases of this left in the country," Horace said with a flick of his wrist, and he downed the glass. "I bring a bottle once in a while to these gatherings. My heirs will probably sell the remainder to a museum, but I prefer to enjoy it while it lasts. I don't think posterity will benefit much by looking a bottle of sweet poison such as this." 

 

"Do you have children?" asked Hermione, surprised. Sure, Slughorn was old - old enough to be her grandfather, frankly - but she couldn't imagine him married, much less with offspring. 

 

"Oh no," he responded with a hurry, "I've never been the settling down sort of person. Too many beauties out there to tie me down." He seemed rather chuffed with himself. "Still, I've done well for myself with pretty people, despite my obvious disadvantages." He winked, and patted his stomach with affection - though the kind of affection that a very old married couple might have, where they know each other so intimately that sometimes they forget they're separate people, and they get on each other's nerves sometimes to remind themselves that they are different. It was a love flavored by years of conflict, and Hermione recognized it instantly. It was not dissimilar to how McGonagall felt about her heritage, incidentally. 

 

*I would so love if Neville felt this way about himself in time,* she thought to herself, and she smiled, feeling a little bit sad. 

 

Then, she put away those thoughts hastily, for Severus was approaching. He was leading Irma by the hand, and she was as red as a tomato, biting her nails and with eyes bright and wide.

 

With effort, he leaned down and whispered into Hermione's ear, "I think I want to talk to Irma in a bit more... Detail. We won't go very far - just a bit of kissing and fondling. Is that acceptable to you?"

 

"Certainly!" Hermione said, and she pressed her lips against Severus' cheek. "You don't need my permission."

 

Severus then looked at Horace, who was smiling gently, beaming at Severus, and back to Hermione. "Neither do you," he said carefully, and kissed her on the cheek. 

 

"Also, do not forget," Irma said, still very pink, "all clothes must stay on until midnight."

 

Hermione and Severus looked a bit puzzled, and Irma floundered, "Oh, dear, I forgot to explain that in the rules earlier."

 

"I mean," Severus said, and there was an intense seductiveness in his voice. He grasped Irma around her narrow corseted waist and, with all the romance of a Byronic hero, he pulled her close against him. "You were a bit distracted, no?" 

 

Irma was like a schoolgirl despite her years, and she tittered with evident glee. She wasn't able to respond in kind, it seemed, but Severus didn't seem to mind. Instead, he pulled Irma towards a dark corner with a towering bookcase, and they disappeared behind the Yule tree. 

 

"He's certainly enjoying himself," Horace said with a grin, and tilted his head questioningly at Hermione. "And how are you, m'dear?" 

 

"Enjoying myself," Hermione said without hesitation. "Let me go get you some more," she said, standing up with as much gracefulness as she could muster. "This plate seems like it wasn't much of a challenge."

 

"Always been a member of the clean plate club," Horace answered with a chuckle, and Hermione walked back towards the sideboard. She intentionally swayed her buttocks just a bit as she walked; normally this wasn't her habit, but knowing he found her scrumptious made the blatant flirting too irresistible. 

 

........... 

She came back from the serving tables feeling accomplished. She had the bright idea to arrange the foods on the plate in such a way as to create a rainbow palette, and Slughorn was suitably impressed. 

"Tell me about what you've brought me?" he practically purred, and Hermione squirmed in lust as he pronounced his words in such a way that they rumbled through the depths of his vast body, like thunder within a mountain. 

"Lingonberry sauce, sweet and tart so that your tongue will be refreshed for this adventure." With that, she lent a delicate little finger to the sauce, and dipped it carefully, whereupon she brought the finger up to his lips. He proceeded to lick it sensuously. 

"Oh yes, indeed," Slughorn said with approval. 

"Then here is some creamy chipotle risotto, so rich and buttery and warmly spiced that you'll scarcely want to dine upon anything else ever again," Hermione said, and instead of teasing him this time, she took a forkful of the pasta and elevated it into Slughorn's doting mouth. 

"Well said," Slughorn replied, swallowing the bit and appearing quite pleased with the thought she'd put into her descriptions. 

"Tartiflette with sweet potatoes, warmed with reblochon cheese, nutmeg, and pancetta." She scooped a forkful up and served it to him, and he closed his eyes with pleasure. 

"Next, we have glazed cipolline onions, in a sweet sauce accented by thyme and rosemary," Hermione went on, and popped one into her own mouth before serving one to Horace. The flavor rushed across her mouth in a burst of flavors, and she moaned despite herself. 

Slughorn's mustache twitched, and he was clearly smiling. 

"Then we come back to a more acidic region," Hermione went on, "with the palate-cleansing briny taste of stuffed grape leaves, flavored with nutmeg, fragrant kalamata olives and long-grain Italian rice." 

Slughorn grunted his approval as Hermione apportioned him a generously large roll, and he sucked it down obediently. 

"Then, for a bit of sweetness, sable Breton, a tart of fresh blueberries and a hint of flaky sea salt," Hermione described, and bit into the tart herself before offering it to Slughorn's lips. 

His eyes were closed, and his tongue darted out experimentally as he tasted the flavors, and he smiled with a kind of jubilation that Hermione found invigorating. 

"Now," Hermione said, as she moved on to the next item, "poached figs, as dainty as a lady's secret, drenched in vanilla, sugar, and lemon." 

"Oh thank heavens," he murmured, and opened his mouth wide to admit an entire fig. 

Admitting satisfaction, he opened his eyes again and surveyed Hermione's awaiting face. "You do have quite a bit to learn about how flavors go together," Slughorn said, taking a deep sober breath, "but all in all, a solid O for effort, m'dear. And for creativity, as well, even if the transition from the grape leaves to the tart was a bit sudden. I'd have skipped the grape leaves entirely and let the sweetness of the onions guide one naturally to the even sweeter tart; or if the grape leaves were of the sweeter variety, then we'd have had quite a pleasant round of bites." 

Hermione nodded, and felt a flush of mixed disappointment and gladness on her face as Slughorn took the plate from her. "But it'd be a bit rude not to finish what I've been served," he said, and happily began to finish off the remainders on the plate. 

She watched him as he did so. He clearly was enjoying the attention she gave him, as she felt like his eating was just a little more theatrical than before, just a little bit more fan-servicey. He was performing for her, and what a treat it was to watch a master at work! His jowls wobbled so elegantly below his chin, a chin that in the history of her acquaintance with the man, she'd never properly seen because it'd been smothered in his abundant flesh. His loose robes were accommodating and flattering of his broad belly, but did nothing to disguise the way it ever-so-slightly jiggled and bounced as he chewed. 

"Oh," she heard him say as he finished the plate, "I ought to be feeling full, but unfortunately m'dear, I could use a bit more. Would you do me the great favor of refilling my plate?" 

"My pleasure," Hermione said, standing and returning to the large tables. She did this with some relief, because her vagina was exquisitely aching for assistance in relieving its burden.

She saw Rolanda there at the table, pensively eating a biscuit while staring at the rest of the food. Rolanda was gaunt, but also muscular. Separately, there was something Hermione hated about Rolanda Hooch. The woman was an athlete, which was a world away from anything that Hermione could relate to. The woman had always seemed a bit cool around Hermione - and rightly so. Hermione was crap at flying, and it was the one area she'd not surpassed everyone in her class academically. 

Moreover, Rolanda wasn't particularly inviting as she towered over Hermione, her jaw firm and her eyes wide. 

"I don't know if Severus is the type to play games," Rolanda said plainly, so suddenly that Hermione scarcely realized the witch was addressing her, "but you've got to make sure he doesn't hurt Irma." 

"What?" Hermione asked, and she also took a biscuit, just for an excuse to step a little further away from Madam Hooch, who was too close for comfort. 

"Don't let him hurt her," Rolanda said again, and she was staring Hermione fiercely in the eyes. "Or there will be hell to pay." 

"I... okay," Hermione responded, and before she could ask any further questions, Rolanda whipped away, and soon she was lost to Hermione amid the crowd. 

Returning back to Slughorn, Hermione's bewilderment and fear were writ on her face, and she sat down with Slughorn. She was a bit shaken, and it showed in her face. 

"M'dear, you don't look so well," the man said. He sat back further in his chair and spread his legs, creating a space approximately the right size for Hermione's bottom, and he patted the chair in an invitation. 

She accepted the seat, if only because she was feeling somewhat rattled, and Slughorn tenderly asked if he could massage her shoulders. 

Consenting, Hermione relaxed into the deftness of his thumbs, the softness of his palms, and the gentleness of his stomach as it filled the space between them so nicely. 

"Don't pay her any mind," Slughorn said once Hermione took a few deep breaths, "She was doubtless just trying to unnerve you. She doesn't like when men play with her girls." 

"Oh?" Hermione asked, her interest piqued. She didn't know much about Rolanda Hooch. And, as with anything that she didn't know very well and that was posing a problem, she was keen to study up on the subject. 

Slughorn's fingers took their time, pleasuring the exposed skin of her shoulders more and more deeply. "She's a bit mad," he said softly, "and always has been. Still, Irma's not much better, and they feed off each other. It surprises me that Pomona puts up with them both, but Rolanda hasn't turned sour on her yet. As a couple, they're a relatively recent phenomenon. Pomona and Rolanda, I mean. Irma and Rolanda go back much farther than that." 

He grinned, his mustache quivering with eagerness, and his fingers began to wind their way down Hermione's corseted waist, tenderly testing the sturdiness of her velvet dress. "Irma and Rolanda were sweethearts back when Rolanda was known as Roland." In explanation, he added, "They were both in first year when I was in fifth." 

"Oh," Hermione said, and there was something in the conspiratorialness of his voice that gave her pause. She wasn't sure how much she actually wanted to know, in truth. It bothered her, somewhat, to think of Irma Pince as a young girl. It didn't surprise her much to know Rolanda's history. But she felt a special softness for Irma that she didn't feel for Rolanda, and it made her uncomfortable to think too hard about these two people and how their lives intertwined. 

"But suffice it to say," Slughorn said, "Irma makes a game of testing Rolanda's patience, and Rolanda makes a game of testing everyone else's patience, and in the end it's all right. But just know that Rolanda's threats are as empty as her stomach." He then rested his large hands on Hermione's pillow of a tum. "Not the case with you, I suspect, m'dear?" 

"No," Hermione said carefully, feeling at once delighted to be seen for the courageous person that she was - but also terrified that Slughorn could read her so easily to know what kind of compliments she would find most flattering. 

*He's a master Slytherin,* she reminded herself, *and that's all it is. And you're starting to like Slytherins quite a lot, actually.* 

Reassured, she imagined Slughorn as an immense, fattened basilisk. He certainly seemed to curl around her as easily as one, despite his bulk - his fleshy arms embraced her closely, and she was almost surprised how they'd gotten so far around her. She was being squished into his soft abdomen, slowly, as he drew her closer and closer to him. If he'd been any softer, she'd have been worried of his body being quicksand, but she felt her shoulders settle against the hard knot of his over-full stomach, and she felt the bones in his wrists and arms as he encircled her. 

"Oh yes," Slughorn said, and he seemed to draw out the Sssss in a snakelike manner. She wasn't sure if it was intentional until she heard, closer to her ear, the whisper, "Yessss." 

Feeling at once incredibly vulnerable, her body tensed up, and Slughorn released her slightly. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked, and at once she felt launched back into the safety of a human-to-human relationship, rather than a snake-to-human relationship. 

"Erm," Hermione said, and then began to laugh nervously. "Are you trying to..." 

She wasn't even sure what to say, given Slughorn's mellow eyes and cheerful mustache, and she was beginning to wonder if she'd imagined all of it until he asked, "Pretend to eat you? Just a bit, m'dear. I'm a failed animagus." 

He chuckled to himself. "My tutor told me that it didn't work because I was trying to force myself into a creature that was 'unsuitable' for my form. He tried to convince me to allow my body to become that of a warthog, or a bear, or a bull. But oh, no," he said, and there was a sad smile on his face, "I was bound and determined to be a Slytherin snake, and if I couldn't be a snake, I wouldn't be anything." 

With a grin, he added, "Once in a while, my skill does serve to be somewhat... entertaining, if not downright pleasurable." 

"I see," Hermione said, and relaxed substantially. "So, you don't transform, is that correct?" 

"No," he said, "just this." 

Suddenly, his eyes attained a brightness and unblinkingness that was distinctly snakelike, and his body became more flexible and strong, where his arms could twist together in a spindly, awkward shape. "Just this," he said again, and his voice had changed just a trifle, and it was much more hissy than normal. 

"Interesting," Hermione said, but was feeling a bit unnerved. She felt a bit like Alice in Wonderland - specifically, one of the terrifying parts. 

"Do you like it?" Slughorn asked, and he grinned at her. His mouth was a bit wider than usual. 

"Erm, not particularly?" Hermione found herself saying, "I...I'm sorry, it's just not that...appealing to me." 

"Hm," said Slughorn, sounding a bit more like his usual self. "Then consider this?" 

He took her plate from her and, with a magnificent effort, his jaw unlocked from itself and his mouth stretched wider, wider, wider... until it was large enough to encompass a whole roast turkey if he'd tried. Then, he simply tipped the remainder of the food on her plate into his mouth, and then he swallowed, and then he morphed back into his usual self, looking pleased as punch. 

He now had Hermione's utmost attention. 

"See?" he said, his chubby cheeks beaming with excitement. "I knew you'd appreciate it." 

Hermione did appreciate it, but she wasn't quite sure if it was in the way he was hoping. Her mind was full of images of Slughorn trying to swallow her whole, his serpentlike tongue licking in her most intimate places, but being unable to get past her lusciously large rump. 

"It's certainly interesting," she said, and there was a different resonance in her voice than before. She was certainly very curious, but there was something a bit too scary about his skill to completely embrace it without a brief break to calm her knickers. "Can we revisit it after while? I want to go and check on Severus." 

"Of course," Slughorn said, bowing his head gracefully, and she could see that he was just a touch disappointed. "Would you be interested to experiment with me after midnight, m'dear?" 

"I'm not entirely clear on what happens at midnight, still," Hermione confessed, "but let's say tentatively yes." 

"Huzzah," the older man said, and his face seemed to ease into contentedness. "It was a pleasure dining with you, m'dear." 

"Same," she said. Elegantly (or as elegantly as she could manage), she stood and walked behind the yule tree, hoping to find Irma and Severus among the bookcases.


	76. gasping breaths and poor missteps

Finding Irma and Severus wasn't at all very hard, considering the way Irma was giggling and squealing like a schoolgirl. 

"Shh, shh," she heard Severus rumble, and Irma just kept laughing, her voice shrill - but there was something a bit contagious about her laugh. Hermione found herself smirking as she made her way around the corner. 

She found Severus with the angular woman practically folded into his lap, and he seemed to have been reading aloud to her. 

"Why are you doing this to me?" Severus asked with mock disbelief, and Irma responded with even more laughter. "This isn't erotic at *all.*" 

"Just... just keep reading," gasped Irma, "it gets better, I swear." 

At that, Hermione decided to stop eavesdropping, and she knocked briskly on the bookcase as she swept into their field of vision. "Sorry to interrupt," she said, trying to appear as welcoming as possible, "I just wanted to see how you were doing." 

"Feel free to join us," Irma said warmly, and there was a brightness behind her spectacles that Hermione'd never seen before. "Come and listen. Severus is an *amazing* reader." 

"My time on the London stage finally comes to good use," quipped Severus, "in delighting a delightful lady." He proceeded to kiss Irma Pince on the top of her head, and she began to giggle again, though a little more quietly. Turning his head, he extended one arm open to admit Hermione. 

She knew it'd be difficult to get up again, but Hermione plunked down on the rug next to them, and leaned back against Severus' waiting shoulder.

"There we are," Severus breathed with some relief, as if he'd been worried that she'd reject him for some reason. He wrapped his arm around Hermione's shoulder, and kissed her on the head as well.

"Now, as I was saying: The three little pixies were marvelously clever, and one night, when the tailor was sleeping, they came out of the woodwork. Armed with their needles and thread, they - oh gods," he broke off, and rolled his eyes, then glared at Pince. Pince was giggling uncontrollably at this point, and Hermione craned her neck to see what the heck was so funny. 

"Oh dear," Hermione said, and burst out laughing. The next lines were: 

*They proceeded to snip off his member, cut it into little tiny pieces, and reassembled it into the shape of a woman's form. Whereupon, they sewed this back upon the tailor's body, in the correct place, and then they vanished into the woodwork again.* 

"It's a morality tale about *housework,*" Severus sniped, "he refused to put his laundry in the hamper, and this is what happened to him." 

"It's not about housework!" Pince cackled, "It's about the mistreatment of *women.*" 

"Believe me, the point is *not* lost on me," Severus responded, and in his best trolling voice, he added, "But why on earth does it *matter* where his dirty laundry goes?" 

"Ay, there's the rub!" Irma responded, and smacked Severus lightly on the shoulder. 

They were getting on *exceedingly* well, which was interesting to Hermione. She didn't really understand how this had happened. It was almost as if by magic. 

A pang of worry ran through her veins, and her amused smile faded away as she thought: what if he decides that she's more of what he's looking for, than I am? 

*Don't be ridiculous,* she answered herself, *He's perfectly happy with you. Perfectly. This is a party. You're both enjoying yourselves. You're the one he's going home with, tonight.* 

Indeed, almost as soon as the thoughts ran through her head, Severus turned his head towards her, and was carefully gauging Hermione's reactions. She did her best to smile, and he smiled back, but there was something lacking in his smile, something a bit guarded. Closing her eyes, she supposed that he could read her feelings much better than she could hide them. 

She opened her eyes as she felt warm wet lips caressing her own, and she embraced Severus' tongue achingly, trying to communicate the mix of emotions she'd experienced in that evening alone. He responded in kind, as if trying to send her a code as well, and they spent some time trying desperately to read each others' communications until Irma cleared her throat. 

"My apologies," Severus said, breaking away from Hermione and offering his hand to her instead. "I just needed to remind my 'main squeeze' that she needs to remain... squeezy." 

He was referring back to a conversation they'd had in the past, and Hermione flushed to remember it... and all the sexy happenings that had followed said conversation. 

Leave it to Severus Snape, to make something that started off so silly, so potent. 

"Whatever," Irma said, waving her hand at them like a queen dismissing an offensive peasant. "You scribblers are two of a kind, that's for sure." 

*Truth be told, I like scribblers. You always scream so prettily.*

Hermione winced as she thought back to that day in the library. That day seemed eons away from where they were now. Madam Pince was so unladylike in how she was folded against the bookshelf, an arm around Severus' ample waist, and scarcely seemed like the same penetrating woman who'd said so breathily, *Next time, ask, and I will help you find what you need.* 

"Why are we scribblers?" Severus asked crisply, breaking through the silence with an incisive stroke. "Surely others make comments in the margins?" 

"Not nearly to the same degree," Irma responded, smiling a little too broadly. "You the two worst offenders I've ever seen. If I hadn't made so much money off your scribblings, you'd be long banned from the library, both of you." 

Hermione made a quick intake of breath, and Severus was also stony with silence. 

After a few minutes, Irma confessed, "I jest." She said this with a rolling laugh, and she leaned back against the bookcase, convulsing with giggles. "If I had, do you think I'd still be working here?" 

"What to do with you?" asked Severus, shaking his head and doing his best to scoop up the angular woman in a bear hug, "What to do, indeed?" 

"Stop!" Irma said, laughing even harder, and then she began wheezing. It was actually pretty scary, how fast she transitioned from laughing to dangerous, fish-out-of-water gasps, and Hermione had no idea what to do. Severus, however, had his wand ready in an instant, and he put the tip of it at Irma's mouth and uttered a forceful spell below his breath. 

"Oh," Irma said, calm again and suddenly able to breathe. She put her fingers to her throat and touched it. "That's exactly right." 

"You shouldn't make yourself so giddy," Severus said sternly, "it can kill you if you're not careful."

"I know," Irma said, attempting (and failing) a triumphant smirk. "I... that's why I don't get out, much," she added, and then a question occurred to her. "How do you know that spell?" 

"Because I've been dealing with ignorant dunderheads in potions labs for far too long, that's bloody why," Severus said, and added to Hermione, "I actually ought to make sure I teach you these sorts of things. Things that would be part of any teacher education course, if I had a say. I'm a dunce to not have thought of it before." 

"That's all right," Hermione said gently, "It's a fixable problem." 

"Yes," Severus replied petulantly, "but only because this happened." He shook his head. "If something had happened in your class..." 

"I mean, Madam Pomfrey is here for a reason, you know," Hermione said, "it's not like we don't have an in-school healer." 

"Still," Severus said, brooding. He disentangled himself from the two women and laboriously stood. He looked tall and imposing, as she looked up at him from the floor. His belly hung heavily in his shirt, threatening to split it open with any wrong movement, and Hermione wanted it to so badly. She'd lick it up like a cat enjoying cream... 

"I'd like to ask you a question," Irma was saying, as Severus extended a hand and helped her up. "I will only ask it once, Severus, and as such, the only requirement is that you answer honestly." 

"I'm listening," Severus said, extending his hand to help Hermione as well. Well, both his hands, actually - Hermione took it as a sign of both affection, and as a sign that she was too fat to get up with only the aid of one of his hands, by his estimation. Both interpretations were satisfactory to her. 

"Are you aware of the health risks associated with being severely overweight?" 

Hermione rarely saw Severus get upset at someone, these days - mostly because he didn't interact with many people, outside of her - and it was frightening to see the anger that came unleashed upon Madam Pince. Upset, indeed, was an understatement. In response to her question, he seemed to have harnessed chariots of malice, sent them pummeling around the sun, and hurled them in Pince's direction. 

He stepped up to her, getting directly in her face, and stared at her with cold, dead hatred in his eyes. 

"No," he said, "I haven't heard that I'm more likely to die of heart disease. I haven't heard of diabetes mellitus, neuropathy, stroke, coronary artery disease, cardiac arrest, cancer, low sperm count, low sperm motility, erectile dysfunction, asthma, sleep apnea, joint pain and osteoarthritis, depression, gallstones, gout, kidney disease, and liver disease. I don't review these medical probabilities in my sleep, wondering if I'm one of the lucky percent of overweight people who is more at risk to acquire Alzheimer's. I don't consider that every time I eat, I probably don't deserve to eat, and I probably deserve to starve to death instead, because that's a much more of an *acceptable* tragedy than someone who ate until they ballooned to absurd proportions like mine, then died as a result of poor impulse control. No, Pince, I am not aware of the health risks associated with being severely overweight, and moreover, I'm absolutely *gluttonous* to know more. Would you care to enlighten me?" 

While Pince was very challenged by social cues, even she picked up on the fact that she'd misspoke. "I was just asking," she hissed, "out of a sense of moral duty." 

Severus stood down, warning still vehement in his eyes. "Then let your moral duty be absolved," he said, his brow furrowed and his body tensed, "And never ask such a question of myself - or Hermione - again." 

"Fine," Pince said, and looked down at the floor. She hung her hands low, framing her slender, almost convex stomach, but otherwise made no further comment. 

After several stern moments of silence, Severus lightened the mood, strangely enough. "Then let's chalk this up to loss of oxygen flow to the brain, and leave it at that. After all, this is supposed to be a party, and you are supposed to be our hostess."

"True enough," Irma said, plastering a smile on her face that was as fake as fake could be. "Let me excuse myself for one moment to the ladies', if you don't mind." 

She scurried off, leaving the pair feeling like a whirlwind had passed through. 

*Wow,* Hermione thought, and looked at Severus. Severus was staring back at her, and they met eyes. 

"She's so pathetic," she heard him rumble, "I feel sorry for her." 

"Also, you think she's hot," Hermione responded cheerfully, and Severus blushed in response. 

"Not precisely the word I'd use," Severus responded, "Entertaining, yes. Enchanting? Perhaps."

He then proceeded to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her tight to him, specifically against the rising mound of his cock, which was hardening beneath his trousers. "Eliciting a powerful, ravenous lust, like you inspire in me? Not at all." 

"Ego-boosting, also," Hermione offered. "She's unbelievably bowled over by you." 

"What," he asked, a sly smirk on his face, and he kissed her upon the forehead. "You think I'm not capable of bowling over an old shut-in spinster like her *believeably*?" 

Hermione swatted him playfully on the rump, and that turned into an arse-grabbing fest. Then Severus' hands felt their way down her corset, and he provided her with the same treatment. Hermione rested her head against Severus' chest, and he embraced her tenderly, but was unable to do so without keeping one hand perched assertively on her bulging bustle. 

"You had a good time with Horace, it seemed," he added, squeezing her most convenient arse-cheek. "How did that go?" 

"Well enough," Hermione said, then giggled a little bit. "Until he started showing off his more... Slytherin skills?" 

"Oh dear," Severus said, and sighed. "Is there someone *else* that I must challenge to a duel? I feel far less competent against my old teacher than against the flimsy librarian, but I suppose I can manage if necessary." 

"No duels necessary," assured Hermione, kissing him on the cheek. "He just... has a particularly strange talent that I find a bit unsettling." 

"I see," Severus said, and touched Hermione's hair protectively. "Tell me more about it later? Instead I have some other questions for you." 

"Of course," she answered, though despite herself she started feeling worried. 

"So apparently," Severus said, "before midnight, clothes must stay on.... but after midnight, clothes must come off. What are our boundaries as pertains to other people? And when do we plan to leave?" 

"I'm glad you say *we*," Hermione said, and squeezed Severus' hand. 

"Of course," he said, sounding serious. "Why wouldn't we leave together? It'd be a violation of etiquette for me to expect otherwise." 

"No matter," Hermione answered, not willing to go into detail about her minor anxieties about Pince. They were far away, now. "So I expect we're talking about sexual boundaries, right?" 

He snorted, but didn't look at her. "Obviously." 

"So," Hermione said, and thought carefully. "Is there anything that you don't want me to do?" 

"...No," he answered, but added, "Though it would be somewhat... difficult... for me, if you were to go and fuck everyone else in the place." 

Hermione stared down her nose at him in her best McGonagall stare, and waited until he abashedly made eye contact. "Do you think I'm likely to do that?" she posed, knowing the answer would be no. 

"Of course not," he said, responding to her stare feebly, glancing away almost immediately, "but you're so attractive, you *could* do that, and while of course you'd be well within your rights, I'd much prefer that whatever happens, either happens with both of us together, or outside the scope of my vision." 

"Understood," Hermione said, "So you'd prefer an arrangement where you won't be an unintentional voyeur of my activities, unless you're participating."

He grimaced, still staring towards a random corner, refusing to meet her eyes. "Not my cup of tea." 

"Fine," Hermione said, "I'd feel weird about it, anyway. Though strangely, I don't have the same qualms with you," she said, and threaded her fingers in the buttonholes of his vest. "I feel like I'd enjoy watching you get things brewing with whomever else you care to partner." 

"I... appreciate that," Severus said, and he met her eyes for the first time. "So you're all right if I fuck Pince, is that so?" 

"Definitely," Hermione said, "and anywhere you both choose." 

"Hm," he answered, and then a blush rose on his face. 

"What," Hermione asked, "you just thought of something dirty, didn't you?" 

"I..." he attempted to deny, but a sickly sweet smile was on his face. 

"Don't lie," Hermione said, "Tell me, I beg you." 

"It just occurred to me," he admitted without much hesitation, "that it'd be rather a shame if Irma Pince were to accidentally scribble across the pages of her own books... with her own cum." 

Hermione began laughing, and kissed him happily. "That's the spirit," she assured him, and the man began to grow a strange and goofy grin. "That's how you behave at a sex party!" 

"Is this a sex party?" Severus asked, his face growing dark. He looked around, then furrowed his brow. "I suppose it is. It doesn't feel like the usual sort that wizarding folk have. It's much more like what Erika's folks host in Boston." 

"Interesting," Hermione said, and made a mental note to ask more about both these experiences later. "So I see Irma bustling around gathering people around the yule tree," Hermione pointed out, "I expect we'd better head in that direction." 

"So it would seem," agreed Severus, and the pair walked, hand in hand, towards the center of the room.


	77. seven dances for severus snape (and Hermione)

Irma's eyes were noticeably red when they gathered by the yule tree, but she smiled brightly as Severus and Hermione approached. She seemed to look through them, in lieu of making eye contact with them, but no matter. Hermione knew that Irma was probably just full of shame, and not sure how to cope with it in the meanwhile. 

"We have five minutes to spare," she announced, gesturing to a large clock upon the wall. Hermione smiled to see it; each of the numerals on it were different images of people doing erotic things,* and given that this was a magic clock, the images wiggled, sucked, licked, and sucked each other in a beautiful demonstration of erotic energy. "If everyone would gather round... and if you would put your shoes on again for the briefest of moments, it would be appropriate for the theme." 

With a wave of her wand, all the shoes came flying back to the owners of each pair, in a brave display of Mary Poppins-esque magic if Hermione'd ever seen it. 

"Do they have to go all the way on?" asked one person in the crowd. Hermione glanced over and saw that the person had boots that went up the entire length of their legs, up to their crotch. They were an androgynous type of person who was exceptionally tall, with short hair, petite breasts, and a bit of a tummy, and an outfit that left very little to the imagination - a skintight leotard of sparkling purple and indigo hues. 

"If you'd be so kind," Irma said, and seemed to have some regret on her face. She herself had rose-colored boots on, of the same Victorian style she preferred, and they were laced up tidily. 

The person sighed, stuck their foot in their boots, and laced them up all the way with a flick of their wand, so Hermione wasn't so sure why they were so begrudging. 

In any case, Severus already had slipped his loafers on with ease, and Hermione envied him the buttery leather. "Would you like assistance?" he asked, a purr in his voice. 

"Yes, my dear," Hermione responded, feeling a thrill of pleasure that this large, utterly gorgeous man would deign to offer his attention to such an intimate, menial task. 

He proceeded to squat down, very carefully, and he began to wind the laces of her boots into position. He spoke softly as he did so, below his breath, and Hermione felt a flood of warm, caring magic course through her. Magic she'd never felt before. 

"What is that?" she asked as he laboriously hoisted himself up again. "It felt nice." 

"Oh," he said, and frowned slightly. "You've never been exposed to that before? It's just a simple protection spell. I don't know how well it works, but my mother always used to do it before sending me off somewhere, when I was small. I've done it ever since, when I remember it. I have no idea how well it works, but some habits never shake." 

In response, Hermione drew him close and laid her head upon his breast. He seemed surprised at this, and patted her gently on the back. 

"What?" he asked, his voice low and soft. 

"You're adorable, you know that?" Hermione said, and she leaned her head up and kissed his cheek.

He chuckled, and the warmth of his amusement emanated outward, making her feel incredibly cozy and loved. "I hope you can keep that a secret," he said, as his stomach gurgled in hunger. "Damn," he added, "I hope this ridiculousness doesn't take too long. I'm quite famished." 

"I can help with that," came a voice, and Poppy Pomfrey was standing behind them. She had a smile on her round face, and a plate of bites in her hand. "I know I get a bit peckish at this hour. There's medical reasons that I won't bore you with." 

"Thank you," said Severus, taking her fork and stabbing some tiny round meatballs, then bringing them to his mouth. "I assure you, it wouldn't bore me." 

"Speaking of," Poppy said, smiling as she watched Severus eat, "I'd like for both of you to come 'round to the hospital wing. I haven't seen you since the beginning of the year, Hermione, and Severus, you've done a darned good job of staying far beyond my reach since you returned to the school." 

"I'm fine," grumbled Severus, "and if I'm not fine, I don't want to know." 

"Same old man," chuckled Pomfrey, and added, to Hermione with a conspiratorial sotto voce, "If you could get him to my wing, though, I'd be very grateful. By hook or by crook, as they say, I simply *must* do his vitals." 

She cast an approving eye on Severus, looking him head to toe. "You've put on quite a bit of weight, my dear, and while magic folk are amazingly resilient when it comes to weight-related disease, it'd be poor practice for me as a healer to ignore it completely. Though I must say," she added, with a bit of a twinkle, "you wear it dashingly." 

Severus was in danger of blushing, so he pulled Hermione closer to him in a possessive way, and hurriedly changed the subject. "You've been studying Muggle medicine since I last saw you," Severus said, sounding impressed. 

"I had a sabbatical of a year and a half, after the war," Pomfrey responded comfortably. "And yes, I spent most of that in St. Bart's Hospital. You know Michael Stamford?" She raised an eyebrow. 

"Of the Stamford family?" Severus asked, and shook his head. "I don't know that I do. I know Ormond was in Hufflepuff in my year." 

"Well, Michael is a squib," Pomfrey said, "so he went out and paved his own way in the world, did a marvelous job of it, too. He's a doctor, quite a big-shot in the city." She smiled. "I grew up with him, he's around fifteen years older than Ormond. Also around... a hundred and fifty pounds handsomer." She winked. "Let's just say, patients' bodies were *not* the only ones I was studying while I was there." 

Well! Hermione could have been knocked over with a feather at that point. Two confirmed fat admirers in one night? Well, granted, Slughorn was hardly a surprise. And also, she supposed that she saw Pomfrey gushing over that enormous woman on the couch earlier, so that really *shouldn't* have been a surprise. But it still was, to her. 

Before Severus or Hermione could summon a response, Pomfrey added, in a lower voice, "In fact, I'd like to make certain that the two of you have an excellent night. If you'd be so inclined, I'd love to spend time with both of you, together, after midnight." 

"I'd love to," Severus said, the words tumbling out of his mouth swiftly. 

Poppy's eyes went to Hermione's questioningly, and Hermione said, softly, "Yes, I'd like that." 

"It's settled then," Poppy said, and her face was all smiles. "I'll see you both later." 

With that, she placed her plate in Severus' hand, winking deftly, and disappeared into the crowd. 

Severus made no bones about it, and began to munch on some crisp fried ravioli, sharing bites with Hermione as he saw fit. The crunch and zest of the fried pasta was overwhelmingly delicious, like fireflies dancing in her mouth, and Hermione felt uncommonly satisfied with the flavors. It was pleasant to share the snack with Severus, one arm wrapped around his waist, while they both engaged in unsubtle people-watching. 

As everyone gathered in the center of the room, it became clear that Hermione severely underestimated the number of people present at this party. Indeed, the number was a bit closer to fifty, now that she got a good look at everyone at once. It was fairly impressive that someone as awkward and ungainly as Irma could scramble together this many people for an event. Then again, everyone knows the Hogwarts librarian, so she had exposure to a wide range of persons. 

All of a sudden, there was a hush among the people as the clock began to chime midnight. With every stroke, the yule tree seemed to get bigger and bigger, until at the twelfth chime, it dissipated into a rain of sparkles that fell like snow. 

The glitter fell upon everyone, coating them with glorious hints of brightness like fairy lights. Hermione looked up at Severus, and his face seemed soft, relaxed, and keen. His dark hair fluttered just a bit, and the motes of shining gold and silver that landed in his hair - and upon his nose, eyelashes, shoulders, and such - proceeded to make him look gloriously magical. 

A sweet vanilla and sandalwood smell began to fill the air, and Severus turned his face so that he could stare down into Hermione's eyes. His eyes were warm, glowing with kindness and affection, and his lips quirked in a smirk as he looked at her. 

"What did I do, to deserve you?" he murmured, and he closed his eyes and leaned into her lips. Hermione did the same, feeling the draw of utterly blissful romance. 

In Hermione's view, there was not another more beautiful couple in the room. They were not alone in being drawn towards each other; others had silently gravitated into tight couples and triads, making sweet marks of affection upon each other. In a flashing glance around the room, Hermione saw Pomona Sprout and Rolanda Hooch in close embrace; Percy Weasley and that Francisco gentleman tentatively exploring each others' mouths; Horace Slughorn and a very petite half-goblin person of unobvious gender cuddling very cozily; a scowling dark-haired young man was laying rapturous kisses on the tops of Madam Pomfrey's sumptuous breasts, which peeked out of her collar invitingly; and others, besides. 

Notably, she didn't see where Irma Pince was, but what did it matter, because Severus was paying her his *fullest* attention.

His tongue was appreciative and kind, as it danced with Hermione's. He was breathing deeply through his nose, as if savoring her scent and every whiff he could get. His hands were attentive and soft on her lower back, pressing her close into him, massaging one of her convenient rolls with his idle thumb. Her own hands were clasped on his soft shoulders, and she celebrated the feel of his jacket's fabric and the way it made her fingers glide over his form. 

But, as they enjoyed each other, they were rudely interrupted.

"You and your patriarchal romantic ideals," Hermione heard a shrill voice from behind them. 

Not willing to let this moment pass in too rushed a fashion, Severus raised his hands and cupped Hermione's cheeks, refusing to let her turn her head, and he effusively continued to kiss Hermione until he was good and done. 

The moment seemed to solidify the fact that he considered Hermione as a priority, which made her feel giddy and validated. As they broke away, they maintained eye contact, and she smiled radiantly at him, not letting her gaze stray. His response was to duck his head, letting his hair fall in front of his eyes shyly, but there was a proud smirk on his face that was tremendously reassuring. He pecked her once more on the cheek, as if unable to resist keeping his lips off her. 

Then, and only then, did they turn to regard Madam Pince glaring at them. She was wearing a bubble-head charm - presumably to prevent her breathing in the falling glitter, which was an intelligent choice given her earlier incident - and she stood with her arms crossed over her tiny breasts, frowning. 

"I'll have you know, woman," Severus rumbled good-naturedly, "that I am a feminist." One of his hands held Hermione's, and with his other, he hooked a thumb on his buttonhole. The effect was that he looked comfortable and portly - and honestly skeptical, yet receptive. He clearly was not in a hurry to please anyone but himself, not unlike a 19th century railroad baron entertaining the outlandish argument of an employee. 

Pince marched up to them both, a fierce challenge in her eyes. "Prove it," she said, her voice hungry. 

"I don't see how kissing you will prove it, precisely," Severus said, a glint of humor in his voice, "but all right." 

He opened his spare arm and allowed Pince into the warm glow of energy that already encircled Hermione. Then, pulling the other woman close, he pressed his lips into Irma's, despite the bubble charm. 

It looked so natural, the way they kissed each other, and Hermione was taken slightly aback by it. Irma was substantially taller than her, and her height matched Severus' so much more naturally than Hermione's did. Of course, Severus and Irma's kissing looked so effortless - there was less of a height differential. 

Also, she thought, come to think of it - she didn't *really* know what she and Severus looked like, kissing, despite her earlier thoughts that they were the most beautiful couple in the room. She'd felt like it, in the moment, but now? Now she was now doubting this assumption as she watched Severus and Irma, their hungry faces so earnest, their natural elegance complementing each other so vividly, and their heights so well matched. 

They really were a tremendously gorgeous couple. The shades of dark colors Severus wore complemented well with Irma's brightness, and they looked as if they'd coordinated in opposites for this evening. And their skins were both so, so pale, and their hairs were both so, so dark (and both speckled with grey, Irma's more than Severus' of course). Severus' excessive portliness and Irma's excessive leanness looked strangely complementary as well, and Hermione could easily imagine Irma nibbling at her meals and then pushing the substantial remains in Severus' direction, indulging his greed while she indulged her abstinence. They were, indeed, a Jack Sprat couple, reversed. 

And to watch them, Hermione felt such a contrast. Her utter clumsiness, her lack of poise and elegance, her own expansive body that didn't bother with the aesthetics of restraint... her skin, which was darker than Severus'... her hair, which was lighter than his... and oh! The age difference also seemed dreadfully lopsided. Watching Irma and Severus, the decade or two of age difference seemed a natural one, and Irma's slight maturity seemed to complement Severus' seriousness so well. Indeed, as she watched them, Hermione felt like a little roly-poly puppy trying to get the attention of a mature great dane: he was pleased to indulge her, but couldn't really take her seriously even when he wanted to.

Whereas Irma... she was all seriousness, all the time, to the point where Severus could aspire to her level. And aspire after her, he surely must. 

These thoughts must have clouded her face, and possibly the way she held him, because with a snap, Severus turned his head to assess her. He appeared concerned, even as she smiled bravely at him. As if to reassure her, Severus wrapped his arm more tightly around both women, and dipped his head to kiss Hermione again. 

"Does kissing Hermione prove I'm a feminist?" he drawled, and suited the action to the words. 

But there was no silliness in the way he kissed Hermione, despite the performative component of his kiss that was clearly present for Irma's sake. 

Hermione's heart felt just a bit better, as she responded to the kiss. In the kiss, she felt that Severus would do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted - and if she wanted them to leave that instant, he would follow without a second's hesitation. 

This was reinforced by Severus kissing her ear tenderly, and whispering hoarsely, in a voice only Hermione could hear: "I love you. Don't think I've forgotten that." 

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," scolded Pince, but her voice was soft. Perhaps she was reading some of the unstated language between the couple, perhaps not. "But I've got to go." 

Before anyone could protest, she was standing on a wooden chair, looking rickety and unsteady upon her long spindly limbs. "All right," she demanded, and the room's hubbub died down almost immediately. The feel of it wasn't that they respected Irma's authority so much - it was clear that few who'd passed through Hogwarts' library doors did - but that they were keen on what she had to say. 

Hermione recognized the feeling after a moment. It wasn't a deference to charisma; it was a deference to art. 

And Hermione was only beginning to see why Irma Pince was recognized as an artist of this gathering. 

"Good morning," the librarian greeted her attentive listeners with an elegant wave. "I'm pleased to announce the post-midnight portion of this evening's festivities. As most of you know, this is where the night begins to turn more..." 

She wavered as she considered her next word, and then she slowly raised her skirt, up, up, up, until she had revealed the faintest hint of crisp white bloomers beneath her dress, and then she dropped her hem, shyly hiding everything she'd revealed to the general population. "...Comfortable," she finished, in as theatrical a manner as possible. 

A saucy bluesy jazz tune began to fill the room, and the crowd began to murmur approvingly. 

Then, like water or a cabaret dancer, Irma slipped down from the chair, exuding a practiced elegance that made Hermione humble to watch. The crowd parted in front of her, mesmerized as she began to saunter down a long red carpet of lush redness, and she raised her arms in what looked like the ballet posture of arabesque. 

Then, in a flash, she brought her hands down through the air, and as she did so, her entire dress changed colors and shape. What had previously been a coral 1930s dress that, while elegant, was fairly conservative, all of a sudden she was wearing a slinky black sheath dress that hugged her narrow angles. There was practically no back to it, instead only a veneer of lace studded with diamonds. Her lipstick was much redder, her mascara had much more pop, and she was wearing eyeliner. 

She made her way down to the end of the carpet, where there was a grand piano that Hermione hadn't noticed before. The scowling young man played it, furiously pounding his way through the jazz piece, and Irma accepted the ready assistance of several hands in ascending on top of the lid of the closed piano. 

She looked so dainty there, so fragile, and yet when she turned and looked at her audience, she looked so confident. Hermione envied the librarian this inner strength, for it shone through so splendorously. 

The piece ended within moments, and Irma led the room in clapping for the young man, who was the only visible musician in the room. "What a splendid performance from our one-man-jazz-orchestra, Holland Lascko," announced Irma, and the entire room responded politely. "And now, before his next piece, let us all take a moment to simply remove one item of our clothes... but don't get hasty, start with the most simple, and end with the most intimate." 

Hermione took the moment to remove her hair-pin, and her curly bouncy hair came out of its updo with a breath of relief. Severus, for his part, loosened his ascot and removed it. They rested both these on a chair. 

She glanced around the room. Most of the room seemed to be starting with something similar - some removing their shoes, some their ties, some their jewelry, some their shrugs or jackets. Hermione noticed Slughorn removing his jacket, and breathing a major sigh of relief. Poppy Pomfrey was more demure, and simply took out her earrings. 

Pince, for her part, took off her tight black choker, and dropped it on the piano soundlessly. 

"Now," she said, making to slip off the piano again, "Let us dance. Any partner will do." 

The song that the pianist began to play was a seductive, bouncy tune that had a great 1920s jazz beat. The room began to move slowly, like an antique music box that needed a little bit of effort to get going, but soon enough there was motion on all sides. (1) 

It was convenient for Severus and Hermione to start off together, given they were already in a close embrace. Hermione was actually surprised by the way that Severus, without much deliberation, began leading her in a decent foxtrot. 

"I had no idea you had these skills," Hermione said, finding her feet did approximately what Severus seemed to want of them. It was a bit of a relief, actually, since she'd had some pretty abysmal dance partners in the past. (AKA, RON). "So full of surprises, you are." 

"Growing up Slytherin has its benefits," he responded gruffly, "though I'm quite out of practice." 

That much was clear, at least - he periodically attempted to maneuver her in such a way as he'd clearly forgotten about his massive stomach. A spin where he didn't extend his arm at a great enough angle, a challenging execution of a dip that miraculously didn't leave her on the floor, and the sense of discomfort with his feet when they danced cheek-to-cheek. 

But all in all, as they picked up speed, he adapted quickly, and by the end of the piece, Hermione felt like she was flying in his arms. 

His confidence had elevated, too, by the end of the piece, and he was smirking proudly. 

"Not bad, if I say so myself," he said under his breath, planting a kiss on Hermione's flushed cheek. He was panting a bit, but only a bit, despite the exertions. A bit of sweat was on his brow, but he dabbed it away with a handkerchief. 

Hermione herself was a bit warm, but also invigorated, and she knew she could manage another few dances easily. 

"And now," came the piercing voice of Irma, who was again standing on the piano, "Remove one more item of clothing - again, don't be hasty - and please find a new partner. Someone whose first name starts with the same letter." 

Hermione removed her necklace, leaving it on the same chair where she and Severus had put their items before. Severus, for his part, removed his jacket, as it clearly was a bit too warm for him to continue wearing it while dancing. 

Then, Hermione looked around, and found Horace Slughorn standing and smiling behind her. 

"May I have this dance?" he asked cozily, and Hermione agreed with a curtsey, glancing at Severus. Severus seemed to have attracted a bevy of three sisters, who claimed to be Selena, Sonia, and Suzanne, and all of them insisted upon his attentions. He looked desperate and perplexed. 

"Help me?" he mouthed, and Hermione just shrugged and smiled. She was delighted to see him so sought-after, and as the next song started, Slughorn whisked her away to a slower beat. 

Hermione didn't recognize the steps Slughorn was using, and assumed it was some sort of wizarding ballroom step. It felt a little like tango - or at least, what she thought tango would feel like, since she wasn't that accustomed to dancing. (2) The music had some seductive vocals, and Hermione could see as she was spun around the dance floor with magical swaying swing that the woman's voice came from the immensely fat woman she remembered from earlier. Said woman was leaning against the piano, decked out in succulent velvet and an elegant tiara, and she had a coy smile on her face. 

"I'm sorry about earlier," Horace said as he pulled her close to him. "I shouldn't have come out so suddenly like that. I usually wait until at least a second date to bring out my viper. But for some reason it felt like you might... appreciate it." 

"No matter," Hermione said, though she'd long settled her opinion on the issue. She admired him physically, but thought him too much of a sycophantic arse to date him. Moreover, he was so *very* much older than her. She really couldn't see herself seriously with someone with so many years on her, not at this stage of her life. "It's all right." 

Seeming to sense that he'd screwed up irrevocably, Slughorn didn't respond, but seemed content not to press his luck. 

The music soon ended, and Slughorn bowed low - and somewhat miserably - as he detached from her. "Thank you for the dance," he said, not looking her in the eyes. 

"My pleasure," Hermione said, and curtseyed formally. 

Irma wasn't on the piano this time - instead the beautiful fat lady called out, with an air of fortitude, "Ladies and gentlemen, if you would now be so kind as to remove another item of your clothes - preferably your shoes, if you haven't already - and find yourself a new partner with a last name whose first letter matches your own." 

Now, Hermione thought as she removed her shoes with a quick spell (since Severus wasn't at hand), she didn't know anyone offhand who met this description, and she glanced around the room, wondering if someone might approach her. She did have some fame, after all - that should insulate her from having to go out and find people herself, right...? 

As it happened, she didn't have to wait long. Soon a vaguely familiar face was at her elbow, and though it took her some effort to place it, she remembered eventually that it belonged to Anthony Goldstein. 

"Anthony!" she said in some surprise. "How are you? I haven't seen you in *years.*"

"Doing all right," he said, and at her request, he helped her off with her boots. As the music struck up again in a slow adagio, he began to lead her on a gentle journey around the dance floor. (3) "We never got around to talking much, in school." 

"Not really, no," Hermione answered, feeling a bit ashamed that she hadn't done more to pay attention to all the members who were part of Dumbledore's Army. 

"Well," Anthony said, and he smiled a bit sadly. "I think that's a bit of a shame. We're both Muggleborns, after all." 

"Huh," Hermione said, not sure what to say. 

They chatted and danced amiably for the entire piece of music, but despite the sultry song, Hermione just wasn't interested in the man. He was perfectly polite, perfectly intelligent, and perfectly boring. There was absolutely no chemistry to speak of. 

By the end of the piece, it was clear he wasn't particularly excited by her, either, and he bade her to have a good night. Then, he whisked away, leaving her feeling just a little bit disappointed. 

But, no matter. Irma was up on the piano again, and she announced that everyone should, again, remove one item of clothing, and this time, find someone new to dance with who was wearing approximately the same colors. 

With this invocation, Hermione found herself scanning the bodies of her fellow partygoers all the more attentively, and there was a great deal of libido beginning to flow in the room. She was surprised to be approached by none other than the ramrod-thin librarian, whose outfit did correspond quite nicely with Hermione's. 

"Hi," Hermione said, a bit shyly, being in the middle of taking off her net stockings as best she could. She felt very much like a mouse that was attracted to a cat, despite itself.

"Come," Irma stated coldly, and as the music began, it seemed like a slow piece. (4) Irma, unable to do anything but be in charge, led Hermione onto the floor. Her gestures were strong and determined, like a standard poodle pulling at its leash, and Hermione was swept into the tide of Irma's waves of energy. 

"You and Severus," Irma said, once they were moving together in finely-tuned movements that were difficult for Hermione to keep up with. "Are a beautiful couple." 

"Thank you," Hermione said, feeling worried that this was preceding some type of trap. "Have you had a chance to dance with him yet? He's actually quite marvelous." 

"No," Irma said, "I wanted to dance with you, first."

Then, before Hermione could ask why, the music suddenly moved into an allegro-tempo rumba, which took Hermione by surprise. But apparently not the librarian. As if waiting for this precise moment, the woman began to lead with a much higher level of energy, sending Hermione through breathless spins, cascading dips, and certain, indefatigable steps. 

It was exhausting, but like a whirlwind romance is exhausting - you enjoy every minute, barely able to keep up, but you know sometime it must end in a sudden bleakness and absence of color. 

The music crescendoed, and then suddenly Pince had clasped Hermione even closer, and their breasts were touching. As the other woman grazed against the fabric of her dress, Hermione felt with an illicit thrill that Irma's nipples were pert and taut, and that she didn't seem to be wearing any substantial undergarments on her torso. 

They spun around once more, and suddenly Irma's face was close to Hermione's. There was something penetrating in her eyes: wanting, hoping, and desiring. 

"Kiss me?" she asked, not missing a beat in the music. 

Without thinking, caught up in the sensuousness of the moment, Hermione did so. Irma's red lipstick tasted like cherry cordial, and her tongue was the flavor of fine red wine. 

"Oh," breathed Hermione, feeling slightly faint as Irma hungrily reciprocated the kiss. The woman had a possessive streak a mile wide, and they stopped dancing right in front of the musician and singer.

The vocals in the music crashed over them in waves. 

*We kissed and clung together there / Tomorrow was another day / The morning found us miles away / With still a million things to say.* 

"A million things to say," Irma said thoughtfully, and she smiled at Hermione. It was an honest smile, without guile or malice. 

Hermione's brain was turning like clockwork, now that she had a second to breathe. Panting from the fast dancing, she asked, "Did you see me, that day, in the library?" 

"Of course," the librarian said casually, leading Hermione off the dance floor, and settling them both in a cozy loveseat. "I see you all times you come to the library." 

"No," Hermione said, and as she sat, she craned her neck to look at Irma's face with greater scrutiny. "I'm talking about a specific time." Then, as Irma continued to play dumb, Hermione tried a different tack. "What did you mean, when you told me, 'Next time, ask, and I will help you find what you need'?" 

"I meant what I said," the librarian said, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "Whatever your library needs might be, I can help you find what you need. Whether it be merely a book, or..." 

The librarian suddenly grinned brilliantly. "...a bit of company, as per your wishes." 

As Hermione squinted, pretending not to understand, the librarian said with a huff, "Oh come now, don't believe you're the first pretty creature to rub one off amidst the stacks. You're just the first one who actually *reads* them, too. Other than myself, of course," she added, and the smile she boasted was pretty unnerving. 

That is, until Hermione realized what the librarian was admitting to... and then she found herself laughing. 

"I hope you're enjoying yourself," Irma mused, looking exceedingly prim and proper as she let go of Hermione's hand and straightened her dress (which didn't need the attention). "Because if I have my way..." 

She suddenly was much more serious, "I have plans to enjoy *myself* in not too long." 

Hermione couldn't stop smiling. "Just say it," she said, finding the situation ridiculous. "You want to spend some time with Severus, tonight? You don't need to flatter me, to get your way. He's willing and able." 

"...Yes," Irma said, and as her gaze settled over Hermione's shoulder, she frowned. "Yes. But it's not just Severus, that I want." 

"Well, what then?" Hermione asked, feeling a sigh of amusement flutter over her face. "Both of us? I'm sure that can be arranged." 

"Yes," hissed Irma, and her eyes were bright and eager. "But probably not in the way you're thinking." 

"Well, what do you think I'm thinking?" asked Hermione, but then she was interrupted by the fat singer announcing the next song... and the next piece of clothing to be removed. 

"Find someone who has read a book that you loved, or who loves a book that you have read," was the imperative, and Hermione reached up and began to struggle her dress off. 

Irma also began to do the same, apparently also running out of clothing items. Soon, Irma was standing before Hermione in nothing more than stockings and pants, and Hermione gazed up and down the other woman appreciatively. Irma's skin was saggy and soft, despite her lean stature. Her breasts weren't as perky as they used to be surely, but there was something desperately appealing about them nonetheless. 

Hermione was grateful to at least have her pants and corset on, so she wasn't completely out of options quite yet. She glanced around the room, and saw that Severus was down to his undershirt and pants, and he was quite sweaty at this point, wiping his brow as he tossed his trousers into a corner haphazardly. 

But as Hermione and Irma both finished undressing themselves, they found themselves swamped by people. Given that they were two of the most bookish women in the room, it wasn't all *that* surprising. 

It was a particularly cruel task, to be tasked with thinking about books, when so many bodies were unfurling like flowers around the room. She couldn't blame people for grasping at low-hanging fruit. The crowd's libido was heating up the room much more effectively than the fires in the hearths, that was for sure. 

Feeling overwhelmed, Hermione wriggled out of the cluster, and landed in Madam Pomfrey's arms. 

The woman was wearing her velvet jacket-gown still, buttoned in such a way as to hide her heavy breasts. But it was buttoned so that it only did hide her breasts; her large soft tum was well exposed, framed by the triangular shape of the jacket, as well as some very fetching lace pants that matched the color of the jacket perfectly. 

The woman was pleasingly built, to suit Hermione's tastes; she was much more pear than apple shaped, with vastly pleasing buttocks that stretched with cellulite and jiggled with every motion she made. She wasn't quite as plump as Hermione was, at this point, but she came close. 

"Sorry," Hermione apologized, disentangling herself. 

"No worries," the healer answered, then offered, "Have you read 'Hogwarts, a History'? I think it is my favorite book in the whole wide world." 

Hermione rolled her eyes as Madam Pomfrey laughed gently. (If no staff member ever mentioned again Hermione's adorable first-year obsession with Hogwarts, a History, it would be too soon.) It was an appealing laugh, one that evoked reindeer bells (or perhaps she was getting sentimental around the holiday season). 

But either way, she accepted the healer's outstretched hands as a sensuous waltz - accented with piano arpeggios that fell like rose petals - began to play. (5)  
"I'm so glad for you and Severus," the healer said, smiling broadly as she led Hermione. Both women were in stockingless-feet and this was turning out to be a good thing. Poppy wasn't very well practiced at leading, and her feet ended up treading on Hermione's slightly more than they ought to have. 

The pair didn't really deviate much from a small circle. If they'd been dancing very fast, it'd have made Hermione dizzy, turning around and around. She felt a little bit like a music box dancer, as it was - but she found that focusing more on Poppy's face made it easier. 

"I'm a bit surprised it took him such a short time to find himself to care for. Most of us thought he'd be either some sort of cavalier cowboy or continue to be a lone wolf for some time yet. I'm pleasantly surprised, though," she added carefully. "You seem to have him whipped, as they say." 

Hermione laughed. "You wouldn't say that if you knew how much we *discuss* things." 

"But that's just my point," Poppy said, stumbling just a bit over her shoe but collecting herself well enough. "He *discusses,* with you. He doesn't just *tell.* That's an improvement if I've ever seen one. And trust me," the healer added, a sad smile on her face, "I've seen more of Severus than he actually remembers. And even in his worst states, he's always been telling me what to do. As if I didn't begin training in my art since before he was born!" 

She clucked her tongue sadly, but there was kindness and hope in her eyes. 

"I wouldn't mind seeing more of the two of you, actually," the woman confessed, "The hospital wing gets fairly lonely during the hols. And judging by my dance with him earlier, I'm finding the poor boy has evolved into something socially... tolerable, even pleasant." 

"I think we can be a little bit more social," Hermione agreed, "it's just that things have been a little bit... complicated... of late." 

Then, in bursts between the sways of the music, Hermione relayed to Pomfrey many things. The troubles with her parents. The visit of Erika. Severus' continual challenges with remembering Lily at inopportune times. Her courting of Neville, and all the strife that came with that. And, finally, she began to unravel her fears about Harry, her concerns about Ron, and even her worries about herself. 

And somehow, Pomfrey smiled and listened through it all. There was something so warm about her, so comforting. It was maternal, but also more than that - just exceedingly, exceedingly kind. And that was so wonderful to feel. So, so wonderful. Hermione didn't have to think about Poppy's feelings at all - she was met with such effusive attentiveness, it was a relief. 

In fact, by the end of their dance, Hermione was nearly sobbing in the woman's arms. 

"Dear, dear," the healer said, and gently guided them both off the floor. "You'll be all right. Give yourself a moment to recuperate, that's right." 

Taking deep breaths, and feeling the healer's warm hand between her shoulders, Hermione found herself dizzily waltzing towards a sofa, where she collapsed in a puddle of useless limbs. 

"When's the last time you had some water?" the healer asked, assessing Hermione with an altogether more clinical eye. 

Not able to answer, Hermione shook her head. 

"Silly girl," chided the nurse, but then with a surprisingly speedy motion, she raced to the food tables and brought back a jug of water. "You must keep yourself hydrated at these things. One sweats so much, and more besides. It's very important for so many reasons." 

"All right," Hermione said, and sipped water from a goblet that the healer offered. It was cool, and good, and she didn't realize how much she needed it. 

The song finally ended, and Hermione felt a soft, strong hand on her shoulder. 

"How are you?" rumbled Severus, and Hermione lay her head back on the arm of the sofa. Severus looked quite sweaty indeed - of course he would, carrying around so much bulk and dancing so vigorously - and accepted a glass of water that Pomfrey offered him. 

"Better now," Hermione answered, and kissed his hand. He patted her shoulder affectionately, and offered his glass for more water from the jug. 

"Next," announced Irma, standing on the piano across the room from them, "We shall be partnering with someone from the same house as our first crush." 

"We're nearing the end of this rigmarole," Severus grumbled, "but I think I'm out for the count." He kissed Hermione on the cheek, and Hermione read in his face that he had no desire to think one second longer than he needed to about his first crush. 

Hermione's first crush hadn't exactly been a Slytherin, or someone she specifically felt like remembering whatsoever in a romantic context (RON), and she preferred to ignore the mandate as well. 

"We're not alone," the healer observed, smiling. "But I wouldn't mind taking off another layer." 

Without further ado, she removed her jacket, revealing breasts that, while slightly mature, were also fascinatingly beautiful. They were round and full, generously proportioned, and made Hermione's tongue ache with desire to lick them. Her skin at the aereolas was a little crinkly and like the outside of a raisin - and Hermione found herself desiring to taste how sweet they might be. 

Hermione herself began to remove her corset, with relative difficulty. Severus and Poppy both leaned in to help. With both their efforts combined, Hermione's belly was free from its confines, and she breathed deeply and gloriously. 

Severus, for his part, was unable to tear his eyes away from the two women, who now sat together on the couch, in nothing but their pants. The picture could scarcely have been improved, but the finishing touch was the start of the next piece of music, a sultry andante piece featuring a toe-tapping beat and a hip-swaying horn solo. (6). 

"Come on," beseeched Pomfrey in a seductive manner, laying a hand on top of Severus' comfortable stomach. "Please join us. Don't spoil our fun." 

"I will," Severus said, "just not quite yet." He squeezed himself into the couch next to Hermione. She made a little bit of room for him, enough that he could sit tightly wedged between her shoulder and the arm of the couch. She laid her head in his lap, and nestled her ear against his erection. 

His cock shot up in response, and seemed unwilling to come down again. 

"Damn you," he said, patting Hermione fondly on the belly, and he dislodged himself from the couch and stood. "So much for helping me feel comfortable, dear." 

"Sorry," Hermione said, though she knew he didn't mean it, so she didn't mean it either.

The music ended somewhat abruptly, the piece having been very short, and without further ado, another piece started up. There was no injunction to begin this music, as it was evident that, this being the seventh piece, there was no more choices in what to take off. 

This piece was a slightly bouncy piece with sultry vocals that sank smoothly into intimate dark places, and heavy dissonant chords that heightened the senses. (7). 

Poppy stood up too, and she walked towards Severus. "Are you really feeling uncomfortable?" she asked, searching Severus' face. "Is there anything I can do to help?" 

"No," Severus said, and he sounded very quiet, and very vulnerable. "There is nothing that can be done." 

"Oh?" Poppy asked, and Hermione watched spellbound as the healer slipped off her pants, twirling them until they spun away to an unknown corner of the room. Then, Poppy took Severus' hands in hers, and, taking the leading position, began to sway to the music. Her eyes remained trained on his torso, her hand sitting in the small of his waist. 

Sighing, Severus leaned his head forward and tried to find a comfortable position against her neck, as he followed Poppy's lead. 

Poppy was in a tricky mood though, and her fingers soon crawled down Severus' side and began to gently lift his white undershirt, which was already untucked and revealing just the slightest hint of his creamy skin. 

With every motion, his shirt came up just a tiny bit. And every time, he shuddered in a way that was barely perceptible, but apparent very clearly to Hermione. 

She was mesmerized by the sight. It was strangely beautiful as Hermione watched, and to some extent it almost looked choreographed. Almost like a striptease, though Severus was clearly submitting to Pomfrey's whims instead of embracing his own virility. 

Moreover, Pomfrey was starting to sing the lyrics to herself, when the acoustic bridge came around. 

"Let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone, Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove," she sang aloud, not quite remembering the lyrics right, but instead giving most of her attention to watching Severus. Her naked crotch, warm and fuzzy with woolly pubic hair, circled closer and closer to his tidy boxers, purposefully soliciting his member's excitement. 

The man, known for his stoicism and hidden passion, was turning an explicit, dangerous pink as he reciprocated ever so slightly, moving his hips in time to Pomfrey's. 

"Dance me to the end of love," Poppy sang clearly with the singer, and then suddenly pressed Severus close to her until they were dancing cheek-to-cheek. "Yes," she breathed, embracing the broad man hungrily, "Dance me to the end of love." 

There wasn't a single other person in this room more qualified to fuck Severus at this time, Hermione decided. If he was a prize at the end of a Triwizard Tournament, there was one clear winner, and that was Poppy Pomfrey. 

As if she hadn't already won, at the end of the song, Poppy whispered something in Severus' ear. He had to bend his head down to hear it, but once he did, he nodded, and they moved back to the couch where Hermione was. 

"I think we're just going to sit for awhile," Severus said, sounding far away. He was breathing heavily, and his stomach was rising and falling with painful long breaths as his lungs tried to catch up with the rest of him. 

"All right," Hermione said, not sure whether he was trying to cue her into getting up and leaving or not. 

She struggled up from the couch, feeling very vulnerable and unprotected as she wore nothing but her pants, but she began to wander towards the food tables. 

"No," Poppy said, and grabbed her by the hand as she started to leave. "Don't go. Or at least, come back. With food, preferably." 

Just then, the music changed to a sweet love song in the tempo of largo, and it was slow and gentle, like caramel waves upon a marshmallow beach. (8). She recognized the distinctive vocalization as being similar to Edith Piaf, and Hermione felt a smile come to her lips. 

She glanced at Severus, who was looking between the two women, and he nodded as well, from where he hid beneath his hair. Edith Piaf seemed to still be his weak spot. 

Amongst other things. Things that will *have* to wait until the next chapter, my dearies. 

..........................

 

*in case you haven't heard of it, google "soviet erotic alphabet book 1931" and you'll find what kind of thing I'm talking about. 

 

(1) Music: What a Little Moonlight Can Do - Billie Holiday (allegro) (sev) hairpin  
(2) Music: Let's Never Stop Falling in Love (Pink Martini) (moderato) (slughorn) necklace  
(3) Music: Amado Mio (Pink Martini) (adagio) (goldstein) shoes  
(4) Music: Brazil (Pink Martini) (allergro) (irma) (stockings)  
(5) Music: Mar Desconocido (Pink Martini) (allegro waltz) (poppy) (dress)  
(6) Music: Ain't Misbehavin' (Duke Ellington) (andante) (corset)  
(7) Music: Dance Me To the End of Love (Madeleine Peyroux) (Adagio) (pants)  
(8) Music: La Vie en Rose (Edith Piaf) (largo)


	78. kisses of fire

Poppy finally broke the silence by grasping Hermione's hand, and drawing the younger woman close. 

"You look lovely, if I may say so," the nurse said, and asked, "may I kiss you?" 

Hermione replied, somewhat breathlessly, "Yes!" 

And then Hermione proceeded to melt into a luxurious, gentle kiss. She felt Severus' eyes watching them, but he didn't say anything, and Hermione saw no reason to stop what she was doing. 

Poppy's body was soft. It was an aged body, with many of the aspects that accompany such a thing. Her skin wasn't as taut as it perhaps used to be, as certain areas of her stomach were covered with subtly emerging wrinkles. 

The ghosts of stretch marks past spread across her in the thighs, stomach, breasts, and heavy upper arms, looking like delicate and nearly invisible lace. Still, her body seemed content to embrace Poppy's acquired fat; the softness filled out some of the little rough spots and made them more supple, more bouncy, and more rounded. Her face only wrinkled in its corners; her plump cheeks were youthful and cherublike. 

Hermione could deeply appreciate the beauty of the woman, as she was. They had a difference of age spanning around thirty years or so, and while Hermione would have felt slightly uncomfortable with a man of that age, there was something different about being with Pomfrey.

She wasn't sure what it was, about Pomfrey, but as the other woman kissed her on the cheeks, pressing her lips on Hermione's tender lips, Hermione knew she could enjoy the other woman immensely. 

The woman's hands fluttered downwards, and Pomfrey asked, "May I explore you more... intimately?" 

Hermione nodded, then remembered that verbal consent was the standard in this space, sputtered, "Of course. Please." 

She heard Severus gasp, and her eyes glanced towards him. She saw that he had one hand in his pants, one hand steadying himself on the arm of the sofa. His breathing was deep and labored, and he was clearly enraptured by the sight before him. 

Hermione cast a quick smile in his direction, and he responded by locking eyes with her. His lips were parted slightly, and his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth. 

Then, Hermione was brought suddenly back to focus on Poppy, who was squeezing Hermione's love-handle in a gentle reminder. 

"Pay him no mind, love," Poppy said, and pressed another kiss into Hermione's beckoning lips. "He'll join us when he's ready." 

............ sexytimes ..............

With a practiced hand, Pomfrey swept low and entered Hermione's channel. Hermione's clit was stimulated by a well-versed veteran of vaginal equipment, and Hermione moaned and grasped Pomfrey's shoulders for stability. 

Poppy Pomfrey had lovely hands. Poppy Pomfrey had lovely, *lovely* hands. Her fingers were not dissimilar to Severus' in that they were strong and excellent at maneuvering, but also with soft wide pads that were absolutely *perfect* for grip and stimulation. 

Severus' fingers were thicker, of course, given his larger size overall, but Pomfrey's had a little bit more roughness and texture about them. Pomfrey certainly used her hands in different ways than Severus did, in their daily lives - Severus was also naturally much more oily, which had the benefit of moisturizing his hands better. 

But Hermione didn't feel that either set was superior to the other, necessarily. Pomfrey had a fluency of utility that came from experience, which meant she was quick to pick up on the motions that made Hermione squirm the most - and she learned quickly how to use them strategically. 

"Oh, please," Hermione begged, as Pomfrey inserted two fingers into Hermione's vagina, and pressed firmly on Hermione's clit with her thumb. "More!" 

Pomfrey's strokes became faster and more vigorous. Hermione felt herself bouncing up and down on her feet, trying to coordinate in such a way as to get Pomfrey's fingers even deeper every stroke. Poppy responded by grabbing Hermione's round arse for grip, pulling up from the base like the latch of a gate catching, and as Hermione moaned in orgasm, soon Poppy was kissing Hermione with palpable lust. 

"Let's get a bit more comfortable, shall we?" asked Poppy, and she grabbed her wand from the side-table and waved it at the floor. 

Hermione looked down and saw that the floor below her had transformed from a plush plum rug to an even plusher sofa-cushion substance of the same color. Without a word, seeing what was expected of her, she sank down upon her arse, relaxing into the luxury of a soft bed-like landing. 

Pomfrey proceeded to lower herself - knees cracking just a trifle - and soon she was crouching over Hermione, beaming. As she supported herself on her stout arms, her pillowy stomach hung down below her spine, invitingly jiggling, begging to be touched. Her breasts - so ripe and large - reached even lower than her stomach, pendulous and enticing. Hermione barely remembered to ask for consent before she grasped one with both hands. 

The feel of Pomfrey's breast was orgasmic all on its own. Poppy's older skin, like beautifully conditioned leather, was even more buttery and soft than Hermione's. Her skin moved over the muscle and meat of the breast as Hermione grabbed at it, and Hermione loved that sensation that Pomfrey's breast was too slick to hold properly. It was a pleasant, warm feeling that was utterly indescribable. The closest she could get was that it was like the satisfying feeling one got when grabbing a naked mole rat by the cuff of its neck, but that wasn't precisely an erotic image! Perhaps just the solid feeling of having a firm hold of the breast was what Hermione enjoyed so much. She didn't really have much time to think about it, though - she was too busy drinking in the rest of the healer's luscious body. 

The rest of Pomfrey was gorgeous as well. Her thighs were dimpled with cellulite, flabby and pale even in the mood lighting. Her woolly pubic hair made Hermione blush to see it, when she glimpsed it from behind Pomfrey's swaying stomach. Pomfrey's belly button was deep and concave, beckoning for a finger to go inside it and explore. Moreover, Hermione had a strange urge to tickle Pomfrey's belly - she seemed the jolly sort who might enjoy that. Perhaps. 

Well, that was what consent was for. Hermione asked aloud if Poppy would enjoy being tickled, and the woman smiled beatifically in response. "Please," said Poppy, and added, "feel free to do whatever you like to me. If I don't want something, I'll say no. But I like to feel..." 

She paused, and smiled. 

"Completely appreciated, like a work of classical art." 

Hermione could easily follow this command. She pressed her lips against Poppy's - one hand pressing at the nape of Poppy's neck, one hand appreciating the sensuous breasts that begged to be touched. Then, this hand reluctantly began to explore elsewhere on Poppy's body, roaming down to appreciate Poppy's gently curving stomach. 

The flesh seemed to melt like butter underneath Hermione's hand, warmly accommodating the way Hermione touched. Poppy didn't seem to have a reaction like Severus would have had - there was no sharp intake of breath as Hermione touched Poppy's fatty flesh, no seething lust lurking beneath the surface inspired solely by the sensuous touch of the abdomen.

Instead, the woman seemed to embrace all of Hermione's touch with a phelgmaticism and cheerful coyness. If the woman hadn't been straddling Hermione completely naked, she might have been sitting on a porch, fanning herself while sitting in a rocking chair, smiling at a group of boisterous children playing hopscotch. Her smile was appreciative, kind, a little mischievous, but contented, like a cow in the pasture contemplating how to get a particularly juicy snatch of grass from over the fence into its mouth, but not feeling overly anxious about it. 

Hermione loved it. She wondered if Pomfrey was doing this on purpose - as a way of making Hermione explore more and more desperately, until Hermione could find the one thing that would explode Poppy's self-control and send the woman into rapture. 

Well, Hermione always loved a challenge. She could work with this. 

So, without further ado, her hands traveled down farther until she finally began to tangle her fingers in Pomfrey's lush pubic hairs, and as she gently pulled at them, Pomfrey gave a sharp intake of breath. 

Ah. Hermione jerked her chin up and stared at Poppy in the eyes. Poppy was still smiling, but she looked a little bit more misty. 

This was sufficient confirmation for Hermione: she was getting closer to what made Poppy Pomfrey bleat like a lamb. 

Experimentally, Hermione placed her finger in between Poppy's labias. The woman didn't shiver, didn't moan, though she smiled and hummed appreciatively. 

Drat, that wasn't quite right. 

Hermione moved her finger into Poppy's vagina, just to confirm that this wasn't getting any closer to her goal. 

Nope, Poppy was still smiling, and seemed to enjoy it just fine - she rocked her hips slightly, to gain better traction on Hermione's finger - but it wasn't the thing that made her sing in triumph. 

Then, thinking carefully for a moment, Hermione grasped Poppy's pubic hairs. With a full fist, she pulled gently, and this made Poppy's head jerk up suddenly, baring her creamy neck to Hermione's eyes, and Poppy moaned in an uproar of pleasure. She arched her back like a cat, which meant her belly and breasts flopped mercilessly in Hermione's vision, and she nearly felt faint herself to watch them. 

It seems like she wasn't the only other person entranced by the sight. "Oh gods," Hermione heard over her shoulder, and she tilted her head. She saw Severus had slipped down to their level. His pants were off (finally) though his undershirt still resiliently remained on. His hand was wrapped around his cock, which was engorged to the fullest extent possible, and he was working it furiously. 

"Please," begged the healer, staring upwards as if praying. In a whisper that seemed almost reverent, she added, "Again?" 

And Hermione was very happy to oblige. She pulled again at Poppy's hairs, and the woman nearly squealed with pleasure. As Poppy's thighs clamped close together, and her hips bucked furiously, Hermione saw the faintest trickle of juices begin to drip down Pomfrey's thick thighs. 

A few more firm tugs later, Poppy collapsed upon Hermione, and they lay there, stomach to stomach. Poppy was panting, and smiling, and looking as if she'd won the lottery. 

"Very intelligent young witch, you are," she confirmed with pleasure. 

"May I intervene?" came a dark voice at Hermione's elbow, and Poppy and Hermione both looked up at Severus. His cock was distended and tight, and he was clearly aching to get inside either one of them. 

"Yes," Poppy said, and rolled off of Hermione breathlessly. "Which of us, first?" 

The man stood before them, looking as if he'd prefer to have two dicks and fuck them both at once than have to choose. 

Fortunately, his choice was made for him - "Poppy deserves it" - came a shrill voice from the other side of Hermione's shoulder. And she turned her head and saw Irma Pince standing there, a coy smile on her ruby-red lips. She wore nothing else upon her thin, angular body. 

Hermione found herself blushing to look on the trim librarian. She glanced to Severus, and saw him averting his gaze from all of the naked women, focusing on a nearby lamp. 

"I'd like to be with Hermione, if you are amenable," Irma said, extending a hand to the younger woman. 

With that, Hermione sat up squarely and stared at the other woman. "Yes," Hermione said, and grasped Irma's hand. "But we're going to be staying right here, if you don't mind." 

The librarian smirked, and allowed Hermione to gently pull her down onto the floor, where the librarian immediately intertwined her legs with Hermione's own. 

In the meantime, Severus achingly came down to his knees, and continued to massage his cock. His gaze flirted between the three women rapidly, before finally settling upon the woman who was spreading her legs for him in such a lovely way. 

"Come inside me," begged Poppy, rocking her hips invitingly. "I'm ready for you." 

"Don't mind if I do," Severus growled. With a final glance at Hermione, who nodded and smiled at him reassuringly, he slipped into Poppy's open legs. 

His face immediately charged with pleasure as he did so. "Oh gods," he muttered, breathing deeply and sensuously, "You're so *wet...*" 

Like a perfectly coordinated symphony, Hermione and Irma began to kiss each other. Irma's kisses were much more superficial, on Hermione's cheeks and neck, and pretty tepid honestly. But Hermione felt Irma's fingers grasp at her flesh, and the gnarly boniness of them drove Hermione absolutely *wild.* 

"May I touch here?" asked Irma, and Hermione gasped out consent, leading to Irma plunging her fingers against Hermione's clit. 

It was amazing how many times Hermione orgasmed, at the librarian's touch. She scarcely needed to do anything; Hermione just came, and came, and came, and finally she burned out of fuel, and she lay back on the softness of the floor, and received with gratitude the soft throw blanket that the librarian wrapped over them both.

"I like this," Irma said, snuggling up closely to Hermione's body while she touched ravenously. "I really like this." 

"I do, too," Hermione said, grinning. She glanced over at Severus and Poppy - Severus was now the one on the floor, and Poppy sat on top of him, triumphantly fucking him. Severus' eyes were closed in ecstasy, one hand clenching as he neared orgasm, and Poppy's hands were appreciating his stomach - she'd successfully pushed his undershirt far enough up his belly to properly admire the massive tum he had. 

Irma wasn't looking, however. She was, instead, pressing her lips into Hermione's soft shoulder, and nestling as close to Hermione as possible. The pair was now spooning, Hermione serving as the littler spoon. Irma's body pressed up against Hermione's as firmly as if it had been glued. 

Irma sighed and kissed Hermione's cheek. "Your softness fits against my poor old bones so nicely. I wish..." 

Then she seemed to stop herself, and she just kissed Hermione on the lips thoughtfully. "You're ravishing," she said, as if she hadn't been saying something else. "Kiss me?" 

It was interesting to see how the librarian's insecurity manifested as an intense neediness. It wasn't altogether repulsive, but it wasn't an instant point of attraction either. Hermione proceeded, therefore, to kiss the librarian lightly on the lips. Irma seemed just as hungry and earnest about it as if Hermione were providing some significantly greater service, like providing water to a woman dying of dehydration. 

Hermione's eyelids fluttered shut, just for a brief moment, appreciating the warmth of the woman who was wrapped around her, and the sound of Severus and Poppy orchestrally orgasming not far away. 

(more to come in following chapters)


	79. feeding Pomfrey, fucking Slughorn

Poppy rolled off of Severus, exhausted and panting. The smile on her face was beatific and endearing, and Severus felt his heart melt just a trifle as he looked upon her. 

For his part, Severus was already regretting his role this whole endeavor. Not for lack of pleasure - oh no. He was overwhelmed by pleasure. But Poppy was so beautiful, and so kind, and how was it that he'd come to be here, again? How was it that he deserved... this? How could he have ended up here, with everything that he'd done? Everything that he'd *not* done? 

There was so much beauty, here, eagerly unfurling itself to his loins. He'd long given up resisting the temptations of the flesh, against his (blatantly hypocritical!) Catholic father's stern instructions. But the feeling that he ought to say no, that he ought to refrain from indulging in order to atone for his sins, that abstinence was the greatest of virtues... yes, these thoughts still existed in his brain, perpetually making his happiness moldy and distasteful. Even at the most exquisite of moments, these thoughts intruded, poisoning his joy and delight. 

Lily could have been here, could have had these pleasures, could have shared them with him, could have been laying next to him as plump and gorgeous as Poppy or Hermione - if he hadn't been such a fucking blockhead. 

These feelings were why it'd taken so damn long for Severus to finally get his rocks off with a woman. These feelings were what had fueled his insomnia and mania during the sad dark years prior to the end of the most recent war. These feelings were still the source of his eternal, unending grief. 

And he knew that these were bad thoughts, and he chided himself, and told himself that he needed to stop these thoughts. Because if he didn't, tonight would likely end in embarrassing tears instead of rapturous visions of womanly bottoms and tummies and breasts and all the rest of that. 

Granted, somehow he'd been pretty lucky with Hermione, who seemed to take his maladaptive strategies in stride, and they didn't seem to completely crush her attraction to him. But he knew this was a rare trait indeed, and these other women - Poppy, Irma - were probably a lot more difficult to impress. 

Hence his extreme reluctance in removing his clothing, completely. He knew he wasn't much to look at, no matter what they said. Well, rather, that he was *too much* to look at. And despite Hermione's wholehearted embrace of his stretchmarks, they still pained him beyond words. 

Severus did have a vain streak; he acknowledged it, but acknowledging it did nothing to actually help him conquer it. 

Indeed, as he looked meticulously over the body of Poppy Pomfrey, he sighed in appreciation of the woman's softness, her ghostly stretchmarks, the way her body seemed to embrace itself luxuriously in her gentle adipose. His hand - so large in its masculinity - settled comfortably upon her stomach, and he massaged it gently. Her tum responded by rumbling, hungry. 

Pomfrey giggled, and turned herself over with a clumsy but adorable effort. Her stomach spilled in front of her, meeting the floor and stabilizing her. Her thighs squashed together so prettily, and Severus' mouth watered to look at her adorable, pudgy crotch. 

"I guess I could use a bite - Would you do me the favor of getting me something to nibble?" she asked so sweetly, and she looked as playful and relaxed as a fat little puppy hungry for a treat. 

He glanced over at Hermione, who was complacently indulging the spiderlike librarian in cuddles, and Irma didn't seem to mind that her face had to fight Hermione's buoyant hair. 

Severus smirked. He knew *exactly* what that felt like. And who could mind enduring Hermione's inconvenient bits, when the rest of her was so bewitching? 

"Of course," he said, pulling his shirt back down over his stomach and smoothing it primly. It was a bit ridiculous at this point - heaven knew his exposed arse, jiggling thighs, and flabby arms were enough to draw negative attention. Hiding the main attraction wasn't going to fool anyone into thinking he was actually the svelte young man he'd used to be. Even if that svelte young man had been nowhere near conventionally attractive, Severus wasn't fool enough to believe that he'd end up on the front cover of Witches' Weekly anytime soon, not with this stomach. 

But he heaved himself up, cursing at the effort it required and swearing under his breath that he needed to dedicate far more effort to exercise. It was getting far too difficult to do basic things, like getting up off the floor. He wondered idly how much he weighed at this moment, and whether or not he'd added any pounds to his frame recently. It wasn't a farfetched notion. He certainly hadn't been dieting. 

Pomfrey continued to lay on said floor, drawing a throw blanket loosely across her body - but only really covering her soft tum, leaving her delightful nether regions and breasts exposed for all to see. She was definitely doing her best to imprint herself in his memory, and succeeding admirably. 

As Severus turned to go to the food table, Pomfrey raised one leg and smacked him playfully on the arse with her foot, specifically targeting the base where his fat arse cheeks folded against his juicy thighs.

And this set his entire body jiggling like a water bed, and for a few wobbling moments he nearly felt faint with lust as his body teased him mercilessly. His stomach, his thighs, his limp cock... everything was in motion, rippling with the kinetic energy. 

He turned around sharply, staring at the healer with serious, hawklike eyes - issuing a warning, daring her to try again. 

She didn't try again, and instead she grinned. "Oh," Poppy breathed, and giggled with a rich buttery laugh that made him instantly forgive her. "You're so delicious." 

Any man's vanity might be flattered by this siren, and Severus was not so naive as to assume that he was in any way a special case. But the little flutter in his heart softened the rest of him, and he did his best to suppress it. 

"Oh," he said softly, staring down at Poppy and using his best, most dangerous teacher's voice, "You *will* pay for that, my little vixen." 

This made Poppy squeal in delight, and her entire body wiggled with frantic lustful energy. "Will I?" she asked innocently, "Oh no!" 

"You certainly will," Severus said coldly, though the edge was taken off by the smirk rising on his face. Then, he stalked off towards the food tables, forming some plans in his mind. 

.................. 

He returned with an entire serving tray of food - enough for eight people to sup heartily and be well fed, he was fairly sure. Roast fowl, sausages, grape leaves, tarts, scalloped turnips, some strange grilled vegetables... yes, there was certainly plenty, and one way or another, it would all get eaten. He would make sure of that. 

Setting down the tray upon a cube-shaped ottoman, he collapsed on his arse and faced the healer. Poppy looked ravishing, her long hair tousled in an artfully sexy way, and it was long enough that it partially obscured her breasts at moments. Her delightful tum protruded happily in front of her, settled around her waist in a perfect depiction of a what could be called a 'spare tire,' and her arse was soft and pillowlike for her to sit upon. 

Without waiting, she began to hungrily dig into the fare he'd brought her. "It's a bit much," she said with a laugh as she forked some potato, "but I expect you'll be helping me with this." 

"I certainly will," rumbled Severus, taking a large leg of what may have been turkey, may have been some other creature (he didn't exactly read the card in front of the serving plate) and bit into it. A savory juice dribbled down his chin, immediately landing on his vast stomach and the paltry undershirt that hid it. 

Poppy's eyes were wide, watching him eat with rapt attention, and her face was as still as a prairie dog sniffing the wind for predators. 

"Damn," he cursed, and he could see where this was going. 

*Hufflepuffs. So predictable.* 

"Oh dear," he said, "this is going to be *quite* a mess." 

May as well make a great show of it, if he was going to be cajoled into leaving his comfort zone. 

Thusly deciding, he took another large bite of the meat, and felt the warm dribbling juices of it land right where he expected them to. 

But this meat was damned delicious, and he was damned if he wasn't going to enjoy it to the greatest extent possible. 

"Oh, yes," he murmured, appreciating the flavors, "This certainly isn't turkey." 

"I think they said it was Trigglebutt meat," the healer said, slowly beginning to eat again herself. But she was unable to take her eyes off of Severus, and her eyes shone brightly with lust. "So much more fatty and rare than mere turkey." 

"It shows," Severus said, and then wiped one of his greasy hands on the front of his stomach. The white fabric of his undershirt was sorely being tested, and even his best starch charm was no match for this fatty delicious fowl. "I probably shouldn't even touch this stuff," Severus said, grasping at the softness of his stomach and hefting it experimentally. "I've certainly got enough fat on me that they should probably roast *me* for the next one of these events." 

"I'd certainly disagree," Pomfrey said, and she moved her arse in his direction, and then (once closer) she leaned towards him. Her breath was buttery and smelled of the cheesy potatoes she'd just been eating. "If they haven't roasted Horace yet, then I think you've got *quite* a ways to go, my dear." 

"That's true," Severus acknowledged, and he patted his stomach affectionately. "So you're saying I should eat as much as I want, without worry of the consequences, yes?" 

"That's the sum of it," Poppy said, smiling broadly. She leaned in, as if to kiss him, and then without warning she grabbed a bite of his meat in her teeth and ripped a large chunk of it off. It was too big to fit in her mouth at once, so she took it out of her mouth and began to take more reasonable bites as required. There was a teasing light in her eyes, and she was clearly tempting Severus' patience - and her fate.

"How do you expect me to do that?" Severus asked, laying down the meat and letting his voice turn threatening "When you won't let me finish my *food*?" 

With that, he pounced upon her, pinning her to the ground in a practiced motion. It was strange what kinds of muscle memories stuck in your body, even when your body changed so drastically. Years of training left him with skills that lasted, so it seemed, and instincts that were useful in pleasing masochistic, pain-loving fat women. 

Poppy was laughing, in peals that made peoples' heads turn across the room. "No, Severus," she begged, "I'm sorry, I'll let you finish, I'm sorry." 

"Are you?" asked Severus, and then with a swift motion, his teeth went for her jugular, and he gnawed upon her skin hungrily. "Because it seems like someone needs to be taught a lesson." 

Then, as he nipped her earlobe, he rumbled more gently, "Is this good?" 

"Very," replied Poppy breathlessly, "And if I say Banana Split, that means it's not good, all right?" 

"All right," Severus agreed, and then resumed the struggle. "Yes," he went on, and he readjusted his position until he was crouching over Poppy, staring her directly and fiercely in the eyes. This proceeded to make her squirm and writhe. "Yes," he said, stroking his chin, and then he settled his nice fat arse upon her broad, soft hips. "I think we'd better teach you a lesson." 

"What kind of lesson?" squeaked Pomfrey, her face blushing red as the pain of Severus' whole weight settled more and more heavily upon her. 

"The kind where I teach a greedy little witch not. to. steal. my. food." 

With that, Severus summoned the tray over to them, and contemplated thoughtfully. 

"I think we'd best with something light," he said, and picked up the bowl of scalloped turnips. "Vegetables for a growing girl." 

Then, taking a spoon, he leaned forward with great effort, squeezing the nurse's sides with his legs to keep him steady, and fed some to the red-faced nurse. 

"Oh," the nurse murmured, closing her eyes contentedly. "That's so delicious." 

"And nutritious," Severus purred. Now, Severus couldn't continue to lean forward and feed her while also remaining in this position, safely pinning her down. So instead he set a spell he'd recently run across where witches would use it to feed their little ones - the spoon automatically raised up and down on its own, offering bite after bite to the plump witch. 

In the meantime, his hands played across her magnificent gut, deeply appreciating its folds and softness. He shivered as he felt her give a full-body sigh, which made her stomach rise and fall with the diaphragm, and he smelled the scent of her desire emerge from between her legs. 

"This is too much," whimpered Pomfrey after a few minutes, "I can't eat too much more. This is so rich, so fatty... I'll get fat..." 

"Exactly," purred Severus, leaning forward. He lay across her body, tum to tum, and wrapped his arms around her, further immobilizing her. In her ear, he whispered seductively, "Clearly if you're hungry enough to steal my food, I must have been neglecting your own... needs. I don't intend for you to feel as though I don't take care of my women." 

"You are taking care of me," Pomfrey whimpered, taking another bite and swallowing swiftly. "Taking care of me so very well." 

"Excellent," Severus murmured, kissing her upon the lips as she chewed her next bite. "I intend to continue taking care of you. I intend to take care of you so well, that you'll pork up another three hundred pounds or so by next Christmas." 

Poppy grinned at him. 

He grinned back. "I'm trying to help you simulate it. I weigh approximately three hundred pounds, more or less. Indeed, probably more. Imagine how hard it will be to steal my food, when you've got three hundred extra pounds on your wicked body." 

"What will that feel like?" Poppy asked, "Will it hurt?" 

"Only a little," Severus acknowledged, and with a quick summoning spell he brought his meat back to his own mouth, and he began to ravenously scarf it down, all while rubbing Poppy's warm tum. "Mostly it will be like floating in a bubble of endless, blubbery fat. But the thing is," he purred, "with increased surface area, the human body's capacity for pleasure - and pain - is increased dramatically." 

With that, he suddenly pinched Pomfrey's tum right in the center, below the belly button, in what he hoped was one of her most sensitive areas. Poppy squealed like a droid on a rogue starfighter and bucked her hips, even with Severus' ponderous weight upon her there. "Oh gods," whimpered Poppy, "fuck me, please." 

"I can't," Severus confessed, "One of the downsides of my gender is an inability to bounce back nearly as quickly as-" 

"-Oh, let me," came a voice from behind him, and Severus turned his head to see Horace Slughorn cheerfully naked. The man looked even fatter out of his clothes than in them, with a belly overhang that drooped nearly to his knees, an arse big enough to comfortably fill a loveseat, and breasts that hung in pillows of slightly-triangular shape. "I'm ready to please you, m'dear, just say the word." 

"Yes," exclaimed Poppy, "but now. Now!" 

There was that urgency in her voice that she used with such success in the hospital ward, and without a word Severus tumbled off his mount, and let Slughorn take his place. 

The older man, for all his excessive girth, was well practiced at getting his cock into holes, it seemed. And it frankly surprised Severus how large said cock was. 

One of Severus' fears, in getting increasingly fatter, was the way the length of his cock seemed to be shrinking. He'd had a good six inches flaccid, when he was a thin man, and nowadays he was certain his cock had gone down to around five. Of course when erect, it was substantially larger, but as he got fatter, he was noticing that his pubic fat seemed to be consuming his prick. 

Slughorn didn't seem to have this problem whatsoever, and he boasted a whopping amount of cock, from what Severus could see. Poppy seemed to appreciate it immensely, and she writhed and twisted her body as Slughorn pounded his way through her. 

The old man's arse was just as wobbly as Severus', though a little bit flatter with age and years of sitting. Severus watched it with fascination, wishing he could photograph this memory for posterity. The man's flabby backside did have an appeal to it that Severus only reluctantly acknowledged. 

It'd been a long time since Severus had been with a man, and for the first time in a while, he was thinking that perhaps he missed it. 

"There we go," Horace said comfortably as Poppy raised her hand in a signal to stop. "Yes, there we go. That's a good girl." 

Poppy curled up in the afterglow, as plump and grateful as a well-fed kitten, and Horace slapped her on the arse good-humoredly. 

"I wish you hadn't left the school, Horace," she murmured dreamily. "It's been less than a year and I've missed you so much." 

"Nothing lasts forever, m'dear," the large man said, sitting comfortably on his arse. "No," he murmured, as his gaze turned towards Severus' aching face, "Nothing lasts forever. So how about it, m'boy." 

"Mm, what?" asked Severus, shaking himself out of his lustful reverie. 

"How about I have a go at that plump rump of yours? I've been admiring it all evening." 

"It's... been a while," Severus confessed, but even as he said this, he lay down on the floor, face first. "I'm..." 

His face grew hot after a minute, and he hid his face - burying it underneath a mess of arms, hair, and pillows - to keep from showing his blush. 

He never used to blush so goddamn much. What was it about being such a fat-arse that made him turn red at the slightest provocation? 

*It's the meds,* he reminded himself, but that wasn't strictly true, and he knew it. The reason he was such a blushing boy was rooted much deeper, and had much more to do with the fact that he'd made himself vulnerable, and opened himself to the world in a way he hadn't ever been able to do before Erika. 

Yes, he thought to himself, his entire life was separated into two parts: BE and AE, or Before Erika and After Erika. And Erika had changed him so irrevocably, on such a fundamental chemical level... 

Oooh. 

He suddenly felt the slap of warm oil at his buttocks, and a breath of cold air as his arse-cheeks were gingerly parted. 

"That alright?" asked Slughorn good-naturedly, and Severus gasped his consent. 

He suddenly had flashbacks to his time with Lucius Malfoy. Lucius was a bit of a chub back when they were both in school, and his taut round tum and pasty buttocks were so alluring to Severus, even then. But Severus rarely indulged himself as Lucius' top - those were rare moments, once or twice when Lucius claimed to be too tired to top, but Severus could tell the other boy craved it just as much as he himself did. 

No, Lucius spent most of his time topping Severus, and their mutually blissful notes filled the empty Slytherin dorms. 

Two bright young men with school-assigned time-turners could get up to quite a bit of fun, if they were creative... 

But back in the present, Slughorn was preparing Severus, and as the blush crept away from Severus' face, he glanced up to see what else was happening. 

Poppy Pomfrey was watching intently, nibbling on some grapes from the tray Severus had brought. Hermione seemed to have fallen asleep, and Irma had gotten up. She was sitting cross-legged, protectively guarding Hermione with one hand. Otherwise, she seemed very curious to see how the two men fared. 

Slughorn's fingers were massaging at Severus' arsehole, loosening the muscles and helping Severus relax. The warm oil helped, a lot. It smelled sweet and spicy, like chai tea, and it was a calming, pleasing scent. 

Then, he had a sudden urgent rush of panic.

"I... haven't evacuated things since earlier," he said, hoping he didn't have to go into more detail than that. "It should be alright, but..." 

"Never fear, m'boy," Slughorn said good-naturedly, "There's spells for that sort of thing, these days. Don't fret too much." 

Thus speaking, Slughorn grabbed his nearby wand and waved it over Severus' arse. A pressure inside Severus' rectum eased, and he felt pleasantly empty. 

"That better?" asked the older man comfortably, and Severus acknowledged that it did. 

Slughorn proceeded to massage Severus' opening, and the older man's warm plump fingers began to wind their way into Severus. The sensation of having something inside him, there, was one he hadn't had since Erika's visit, and before that, Severus hadn't had it in years, frankly - since last he saw Erika, and Erika discovered and exploited his fascination with pegging. 

It was an experience that still took getting used to, feeling the way that his stomach squashed beneath him while Slughorn's fingers parted Severus' opening and began to stretch it, experimenting with an additional finger, and then gently introducing another. 

"All right," Slughorn said, finally seeming satisfied. He withdrew his fingers, and Severus took a deep breath. 

He felt guilty - so very guilty - but he was looking forward to this. A man hadn't had his way with Severus for so many years, now. And at the prospect of being touched in that way again, Severus felt like curling into a pleased ball of squirming joy, not dissimilar to Pomfrey. 

Severus wondered what ever happened to Lucius - that pittance of information Graham Plopp gave had merely whetted his appetite for the other man. But he didn't have much time to think on that, because Slughorn, with a gentle, "Here we go, m'boy," was entering him. 

Horace's cock filled Severus so very well. The pain of stretching to accommodate the man was a delicious, wonderful pain - and Severus ached to feel Slughorn enjoy him. 

A brief moment of panic overtook him at one point - this man was your *teacher,* he reminded himself sternly, how dare you enjoy this? how dare you consent to this? what on earth were you thinking, what kind of low-down pathetic faggot are you? - but these thoughts were pushed away as his prostate was stimulated so ravishingly, his entire arse throbbing with energy and excitement. 

"Oh gods," he moaned, burying his face in his arms again, then, unable to remain there, he arched his neck and begged the heavens for this moment to never end. "Please, more. Harder." 

"Happy to oblige, m'boy," Slughorn said, and the other man's pacing became faster and faster, harder and harder. Severus felt Horace's sweat dripping off his brow and breasts, landing on Severus' back, and Severus knew the man was working harder than usual to please him. 

Severus ordinarily would have done some sexual teasing about the man's weight, and how fat he'd gotten... but he was too overwhelmed by sensation. 

He found himself cumming, just a tiny pathetic bit, even as his cock was squeezed tightly between the plush pillows and his fat gut. A few swift strokes later, Horace also came inside Severus, moaning and collapsing with the overexertion on top of the younger man. 

"Oh gods," Severus whimpered, feeling pathetic but unable to do anything else. "Oh gods." 

"That was spectacular," Poppy declared, clapping her hands just the slightest bit. "Here, let me help you." 

She assisted Slughorn off of Severus' back, which was aching just a bit from Slughorn's weight. Then, once both men were separated, she popped sweet grapes in their mouths - "Water and sugar, gentlemen, to recuperate your strength - and tidied them both up with a practiced, artful hand. She paid special attention to Severus' sore bum, and applied a poultice that made the muscles relax around his anus. 

He was feeling exhausted, and he felt like he'd love to doze off there. Horace's hand whispered towards his own, as subtle and inviting as a snake, but Severus ducked away awkwardly and sat up to see the sights. 

Irma had apparently gotten bored, and was now back on the floor, her legs wrapped around Hermione protectively, possessively. 

He felt an urge to go over there and snuggle up against Irma, letting her frail bones melt into his flesh. He'd still easily be able to stroke Hermione's soft warm tum and buttocks, given how narrow Irma was. And between the two of them, they could keep Irma warm... 

"Oh, well, hullo," he heard a voice behind him, and he glanced to see Poppy and Horace kissing tenderly. It seemed like they were a bit absorbed between each other, so Severus decided to act on that urge he'd had. Grabbing an extra throw blanket, he crawled the few feet to where Irma and Hermione were resting. 

"Mind if I join you?" he whispered, and Irma, with her eyes closed, nodded solemnly. She'd taken off her glasses, and Severus was astonished by the beauty in her face that hid behind those spectacles. 

Some people look better in glasses, some people look better without them, and some people look attractive either way. 

Irma was one of that class of people whose beauty was obscured mercilessly by her glasses. Perhaps it was just the way she presented when she wore them, in terms of her personality, and maybe it was just because he associated her face with glasses as being confrontational and rude. But seeing her without the glasses, looking so vulnerable and peaceful... it made Severus want to hold her close, protect her, insulate her from the cruelty of the world. 

The woman was no Hermione - Hermione, whose inner strength was far greater than anyone else he'd ever known - but then again, Hermione was no Irma. Irma's single-mindedness and Ravenclaw sensibilities, Severus was beginning to see, hid a shyness that was simultaneously endearing and somewhat concerning. Like a lamb that he'd want to keep from accidentally running off a cliff, Severus was enchanted by the woman. She had a terrifying stubbornness and an alarming number of resources at her disposal. 

Actually, he thought with a chuckle, that wasn't much unlike Hermione at all. Hermione just was better at hiding her stubbornness, just a little better at veiling it with the flavors of cooperation and civic action. 

In truth, he mused, if Hermione hadn't had Ron and Harry to socialize her - or a wizarding war to harden her - Hermione might very well have ended up like Irma. 

*It seems I have a type,* he observed, easing himself down to lay next to both women. *Brain-splittingly intelligent, stubborn as hell, and gorgeous as Scottish winter nights are long.* 

Draping the blanket over him and Irma, he cuddled close to her and pressed his face against her doe-soft skin, and wondered how on earth, again, he had been so lucky.


	80. post party

Hermione had fallen fast asleep, wrapped in the arms of the librarian, but she found herself being shaken awake by Severus' familiar hand. 

There was a sense of stillness about the room, but also of silent motion - like sitting in the family living room, alone, watching snow fall outside. Hermione heard the ponderous ticking of the large grandfather clock, and she heard the faint clinking of china on the sideboards as the houselves took dishes away. 

"Are you awake?" whispered Severus, and Hermione blearily opened her eyes. 

"I am now," she said crossly, reluctant to disentangle herself from the arms of Madam Pince. "What?" 

"Are you ready to go?" Severus asked, his voice low and rumbling. 

"I'm not sure if we should," Hermione said, squinting at him and shaking her head. "Why, do you want to go?" 

"I'm not sure," Severus responded, and Hermione finally began to stretch her arms and legs, and she rolled away from the thin woman with the clawlike fingers. 

"Then why on earth did you wake me up?" Hermione grumped, though she did suppose he must have some sort of good reason, even if he couldn't articulate it. "I'm comfortable." 

"Well," Severus said, and he frowned. 

Hermione observed that he had dressed himself again, though he was certainly not in the perfect array with which he'd begun the evening. His trousers and shirt were both on, but the waistcoat hung limply, as if he couldn't get it buttoned. 

That was pretty damn hot, if she had anything to say about it. 

Still, she felt quite naked in comparison. 

"It looks like you want us to go," she whispered, and he nodded, his chin jerking up and down tightly. "Fine, fine." 

She eased herself up, feeling a tremendous weight settling upon her. It wasn't precisely like she was hungover, but it wasn't a dissimilar experience. 

"Here." 

Severus offered her a silken robe and slippers, probably because he knew she'd be reluctant to force herself into her dress on such short notice. She proceeded to slip into these items, feigning cool and collected. This wasn't hard, because she felt as groggy as all get out. 

The robe was actually *enormous,* in fact was probably too big for Severus. There was a masculine cologne smell attached to it, and as Hermione breathed in the wonderful scent, it took her a few minutes to figure out who it belonged to. 

"This is Slughorn's, isn't it?" she whispered, and Severus put a finger to his lips and gestured for her to come. He had a satin bag in his hands, which bulged in such a way that it looked like her clothes. At her glance of concern, he opened the bag just a bit to show her that he'd collected her dress, boots, and other sundries. 

"Thank you," she whispered, and stood up with his assistance. 

She saw Irma's arms flailing sleepily, trying to find something to grab onto, and Hermione inserted a pillow into the woman's arms. 

The librarian didn't remain asleep during this transaction, however, and she blearily opened her eyes. "What time is it?" she asked, not paying any care to the other sleeping guests in the room. 

"Nearly nine," Severus whispered, and Hermione relayed the information verbatim. "Nearly nine."

"In the morning?" asked Pince dubiously, and Hermione glanced back at Severus, who just rolled his eyes. Of *course* it was morning. 

So, she nodded at Irma, and Irma smiled with a crooked, broken grin. 

"Did you enjoy my party?" she asked, slightly quieter than before. 

"Quite a lot," Hermione assured her, "but look, we have to go." 

"I understand," the librarian said, and she winked at Hermione brazenly. "But let this not be the end between us, please?" 

"No," Hermione responded, feeling a flutter in her heart, "It will not." 

"Severus?" Irma asked, tilting her narrow chin in the large man's direction. "Let this not be the end between us, please?" 

"No," he rumbled, after a careful hesitation, and he was gazing at Hermione with a complicated look in his eyes. 

"It was a wonderful party," Hermione assured the librarian again, and as Irma raised her hand, Hermione took it and kissed it kindly. "Thank you for inviting us."

"You're very welcome," the woman said, "Now, go away." With that, Irma burrowed her face deeper into the pillow. 

A quirk of a smile on Severus' face, Hermione kissed his plump cheek and carefully, they made their way out of the Room of Requirement, headed towards Hermione's flat. 

................ 

 

"I liked it," Hermione declared as she threw off the foreign-smelling robe, crawled into her own soft bed, and pulled the covers over her. "I don't know why you felt such an urgent need to go, but I had a good time. I hope you did, too." 

"I did," Severus said, softly, collapsing next to her and unbuttoning his trousers hastily. His stomach was taut and distended, and he looked pleasantly portly. "But I was getting restless, and the room was fairly stuffy, and besides." He turned his head, and a half-hearted smile graced his lips. "I thought it was long past breakfast-time. And you're supposed to be as heavy as I am, come Christmas." 

"You surely know we can't accomplish that," Hermione said, resting a hand on his tum, which gurgled helplessly beneath the growing mound of flab that housed it. "I'm scarcely close to two hundred fifty pounds, today, and Christmas is two days away." 

Severus' grin was magnificent. "Perhaps not," he said, but there was something teasing in his voice. "But..." 

He stuck his hand deep into his trouser pocket, and after a struggle between the fabric and his thick thigh flab, he drew out two small vials. 

"One for you," he said, offering her the purple colored vial. "And, one for me." 

The other one was dark green. 

Hermione squinted at them. 

"What on earth?" she asked, bewildered. Then, carefully, she began to uncork the bottle. She checked with Severus first with a questioning glance, and he nodded. 

She opened it and found the distinctive smell of polyjuice potion in the vial. 

"What's this?" she asked, and then amended, "Or, rather, *who* is this?" 

"Only the most zaftig of our friends from last night," Severus said with a smirk. "The lovely Violeta DeSmet, who enchanted us with her voice last night." 

"Oh," Hermione said, and felt a sense of trepidation in her heart. "And who's the other?" 

"I thought I'd try and see what it's like to fit that robe you've been lent," Severus said, looking exceptionally pleased with himself. "Horace... stoked my appetite last night." 

He rested a hand on his stomach protectively as it gurgled again. "Or this morning, as you'd like it." 

"I take it you've already had your breakfast," Hermione said, finding herself wanting to change the subject from the polyjuice somewhat desperately. 

He nodded, readjusted the pillows that propped him up, and closed his eyes as he leaned back. "Believe me," he said, "the poor elves could scarcely keep up." 

"I'd have liked to have seen that," Hermione said, grasping the fatty flesh of his lower abdomen and pinching it experimentally. "Did you dine alone?" 

"Oh no," Severus said, his eyes closed. "Horace was very helpful. He never took himself to sleep - he doesn't like the Irma's paltry accommodations - but he did suggest that I borrow his robe, on your behalf, since it's such a pain for feminine folk to get dressed in the morning after a night of revelry." 

He opened his eyes again, meeting Hermione's gaze, and he shrugged his heavy shoulders. "But that was *hours* ago, now, and I could stand to put something else in me - sooner rather than later." 

"Are you going to see him again?" Hermione asked, swallowing just the faintest hint of jealousy. 

Feeding her fat potions master was a task that she desperately enjoyed, and she felt irritated that Severus hadn't awoken her to partake in the festivities that took place during the wee hours of the morning. 

"Perhaps," Severus said, but the way he intoned this was neutral. Unlike his face, which was searching desperately for approval in Hermione's eyes. 

She shook her head, trying to will away the jealousy. "That would probably be good for you," she said, doing her best to be encouraging. "I know there's certain things that I can't... really... give you, of course." 

"Oh, no," Severus said, his face paling. "It's not that. Hermione, if you don't want me to, really, just say the word, and I won't." 

"No, no," Hermione insisted. She realized her jealousy was a little bit less straightforward than she thought. "I definitely feel like you should." 

"Then what?" he asked, concern evident in his every quick breath. "What makes you uncomfortable?" 

"Well, just..." 

She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. "I just wished you'd had a chance to talk to me about it. He and I had... a bit of an unsuccessful evening together, though you two hit it off very well." 

"I thought you did, as well," Severus said, and his voice was soft. "I don't think I would have done what I did, if I'd known..." 

"No," Hermione said staunchly, sitting up ramrod straight in the bed. "Don't say that. Don't you dare make your opinions of other people based on my opinions. Not unless I tell you to." 

"Good old Gryffindor virtues," Severus purred, rolling just enough to press a kiss against her side. "So you don't want me to regret what I did." 

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head vigorously. 

"-But, you wish that I had done it differently?" 

"Somewhat," she answered, and then she took a deep breath. "I just wish you woke me up for your early breakfast. It doesn't make sense, but I wish I could have been there, to watch and participate, that first time."

"Do you want to come, next time I see him - presuming we do see each other?" asked Severus. 

"I think I would," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Just to... hand things off, as it were. So that everything's on the up-and-up." She stopped there and analyzed her feelings, and found that having voiced this desire, her uncomfortable jealous feelings were evaporating. 

Severus shook his head in acknowledgement, and then sank deeper under the covers, cuddling close to her. "Whatever you would like, my darling girl. As long as you and I can get some breakfast, soon, because I'm starting to get quite peckish." 

Hermione smiled, and patted Severus' enormous belly. "That can be arranged," she agreed, and she eased herself out of bed. "I'll be back shortly."

"That's right," Severus said appreciatively as she sashayed out of the room, her naked bottom swaying seductively. 

............... 

She *tried* to make french toast, and it burned. She tried to make coffee, and it was too watery. So, in frustration, she called a houself to bring them both breakfast in bed, and she tottered back to Severus with frustration and aggravation in her heart. 

"Never mind," he assured her, holding her close as she cursed into the pillows, "It's early, you didn't get quite enough sleep, and we've got a nice lovely winter vacation in which you can cook every day, if you like. It's not like I need the fattening up," he added ruefully, "but I'm an adequate taste-tester. And a few batches of Christmas biscuits wouldn't go to waste." 

He paused, and a treacle laugh rose in his throat. "Well, perhaps it would go straight to *my* waist." 

This adorable self-deprecating joke made Hermione blush with desire, and also cheered her up substantially. 

It was true: they did have a lovely few weeks of winter hols to cook marvelously and feed each other up. She had some papers to grade, and some more conference preparations, but ultimately they had a long stretch of weeks where they had scarcely any duties, and an abundance of free time. 

Given how much of their free time they ordinarily spent at the table, well, Hermione could only envision the replete satisfaction they'd have endured by the end of the hols. 

The repleteness of that particular day, however, was much sooner to come than the end of the hols. Soon a tray bearing all manner of sweet Christmas cakes, eggs, fried kidneys, and more landed on their laps, and it was time to indulge in a heavenly breakfast treat.


	81. slughorn and severus

(so your wonderful host has decided that they missed a chapter by accident, so they are doing a pathetic flashback. forgive me and don't hold it against me too much my dears.

AND please remember to check out the blog. there's a new piece of art that I just put up last week and it's ravishing. more to come when I actually have money. ;) if you feel like donating to the art money fund please let me know via molly dot weisser 11 at gmail dot com. fanart also appreciated. i have two thumbs when it comes to visual art so if you'd be so kind as to draw your appreciation of this fic, I'd be very pleased. 

also reviews are always always always appreciated, and I really really smile a lot when someone writes something long and substantive in response to a chapter. 

i'm a little self-conscious about this chapter. it seemed like something important to include in this story, though - don't ask me why. I do feel like my characters really are in charge of the story, and I just follow along recording shit, their humble Boswell. 

.....................

As Severus and Hermione ate their breakfast (well, it was his second, technically), he snuck glances at her as he ate. She really was such a beautiful young woman, every bit as ravishing as any woman he'd ever seen. 

As he began to feel comfortably full again, he lay back in the bed. He placed one hand on Hermione's soft thigh and squeezed it gently, appreciating the heft of it as she continued to stuff herself. Mostly, he was taking in the sensuality of the moment with immense pleasure - the weight of his stomach as it pressed into his own thighs and upon his hardening cock; the pleasant, ever-so-slight queasiness in his stomach as his over-full organs began to grind his food into mush; the smell of Hermione's strong black tea and the sound of her sipping it ever so tidily; the pliability and softness of her thigh's flesh under his plump fingers, and the softness of the lace of her knickers that graced the top of said thighs. 

He appreciated all of this, and he tried to focus intently on it, savoring the moment, trying to imprint all of it upon his memory. 

But every so often, despite his efforts, his mind would begin to wander, and return to the early hours of the morning...

..............

Too soon after trying to nap next to Irma at the party, Severus found his back aching and his stomach rumbling. The plush cushioning of the floor was, it seemed, too soft for him - evidence being the hints of pain in his joints. He desperately hoped it wasn't arthritis. 

After attempting to put off rising for an unsuccessful quarter hour, he detached himself from the square of flesh he'd formed on the floor with Hermione and Irma. He hoisted himself up and settled upon the nearest couch, stretching to get the knots out of his muscles and spine. He also proceeded to pull on some semblance of clothing, though gathering up everything was rather a chore. 

His trousers came on, though only with great effort where the button met the clasp, and his button-down shirt also came down upon his torso. He was surprised his undershirt hadn't come off completely during his romp with Pomfrey, despite her best efforts. But it made him feel more comfortable, to know his dignity had remained intact. 

There was a fire dimly lighting the room, which had been darkened substantially since he fell briefly asleep. In front of the fire was a comfortable wide armchair, and Severus soundlessly slid it across the carpet until it was in the prime position to access the contents of the table. Then, hearing a bit of a noise, he glanced around the room, suspicious alarm bells ringing in his head. 

There wasn't much motion at all in the room, though many activities had been in progress when he'd drifted off. Now, there was only the steady ticking of the clock; the sighs and snores of myriad people sleeping around him, mostly invisible in the shadows; and the faintest hint of snowfall outside the windows. 

Windows. He hadn't noticed them before - they must have been obscured by the heavy velvet curtains that were now drawn back. Frankly, he was relieved to see them. Even if they were merely mirages produced by the room, he liked to be able to see the world outside. 

He'd never been a claustrophobe when he worked at Hogwarts before - indeed, he'd have been content to spend years and years in the cloisters of the dungeons, never to see the sun or moon at all - but strangely, now he found himself craving the outdoors at every opportunity. And when he couldn't see the sky for too long, he began to feel anxious. It was as if he needed that reassurance that the earth did continue its regular cycles around the sun, and that it did continue its regular patterns with the moon as well. 

His world had, for too long, been a dark one. And he'd been content with that darkness. 

Now, however, he felt an urgency to remain connected to the light. Even if that light was only stars. 

He even went so far as to go over to the windows and carefully open one of them. As he leaned against the windowsill, breathing in the cold air, he felt the wind was refreshing on his face. Snow was falling in large, thick flakes the size of oatmeal grains. He caught some on his hand, and they melted in an instant. Some landed in his hair as well, and upon his nose. He didn't wipe them away, instead closing his eyes and breathing deeply of the freshness. Inside the room was getting far too stuffy for him, and he felt himself craving a very early morning walk. 

Very early. It was approximately three in the morning and there was no way he was going back to sleep any time soon. 

He grumbled to himself. Alcohol sometimes made him get up at odd hours, no matter how little he had. He doubted he'd be getting back to sleep any time soon, and he was at peace with that. 

Still, there was the matter of his stomach to attend to. The stiller and quieter the room, the louder his stomach seemed to growl. Simply out of courtesy to his fellow party-goers, he'd have to stuff himself until there were no more noises to be had. 

*Oh.* The very thought made him shiver with lust. Stuffing himself out of self-imposed obligation, now that was an appealing thought! It seemed he certainly got his jollies off on self-imposed obligations; that contributed to why the Lily candle had burned so long. 

Of course, thinking about Lily made his brain convulse in an agonized twist of direction; his thought process flipped around. It was like a salmon that had been swimming happily downstream and was forced, on the whim of nature's call, to rapidly change directions. 

How wretched he was, self justifying his greed through the semblance of charity, he told himself. No one was waking up due to his stomach and its feeble noises; he was just using that as an excuse to seek out something to eat. 

How wretched he was - but, even at this thought, also so very horny. Even the way he chastised himself for his gluttony made his cock twitch impatiently. He was shaming himself for his addiction, and loving the shame he inflicted on himself. 

In stockinged feet, he made his way back to the fireplace and the food upon the table next to it. He felt very self conscious with every creak of the floorboard, every soft thud his feet made, and every strangled siren call from the darkest, hungriest depths of his stomach. After the grinding clink of porcelain plates, he amused himself with the far more mundane noises of silver forks rising and falling from serving dishes, the sawing of a knife through a loaf of bread, and the pouring of a glass of sparkling juice. 

Soon enough, he'd satisfied two plates' worth of food (crammed helplessly onto one) and smugly returned to his seat. 

As he went, he saw that another chair had come to be there, next to his own - as if by magic. 

Severus hadn't seen anyone up and about at all, and curiously - cautiously - he leaned around to see the identity of the occupant. 

"I thought I'd join you," whispered Slughorn, a snifter of brandy in hand, and a box of crystallized fruits balanced on his fine large stomach. "I hope you don't mind." 

"Not at all," Severus responded, feeling somewhat relieved. At least it was someone worth talking to. And someone who would not judge his... expansive tastes in food. 

Moreover... despite himself, Severus felt like the pair of them had some unfinished business from earlier. He himself was interested to learn more about his former potions professor's... more unusual habits. 

And as Severus took a sip of his own pumpkin-cranberry juice, he noticed Slughorn's eyes firmly set upon his distressed shirt-buttons. It seemed the interest was mutual. 

*Why did he never bother with me when I was in school?* Severus thought despite himself, and then kicked himself for it. Of course Slughorn hadn't been interested back then - Severus had been as skinny as a rail. It wasn't worth the risk to him, back then, even in simpler times before Muggle practices of teacher-student boundaries really caught on in Hogwarts' policies. Severus remembered Lucius having gone to visit Slughorn during private 'office hours,' and realized that Lucius' attentions in this regard were certainly not for study. 

But no matter. Severus seemed to have won the long game, as it happened - or, more accurately, the wide game. He carried a good twice the weight of Lucius' most heavy, and unlike Lucius who lost the puppy fat, Severus' bulk had settled in and was there to stay. 

Slughorn's appreciation of Severus' body couldn't hold the man's attention forever, however, and soon Slughorn tore his eyes away to stare into his brandy snifter. "I seem to have failed at charming your young Hermione," confessed Slughorn in a low voice. The light from the fireplace cast through his glass, and the resulting warm glow colored his skin. 

Not sure what to say, Severus knocked back the rest of the juice in his glass, and poured himself some more from a decanter. Seeing Slughorn's slight wrinkle of disapproval, Severus sipped this glass more thoughtfully. 

Slughorn heavily sighed, and this was a sigh of approval. Then the older wizard turned his head to look Severus straight in the eye. "It's all right, though. I'm too old for her, anyhow." 

"And for me, you're not?" Severus asked, quirking his eyebrow at the older man. He leaned back in his chair, relaxing into the comfortable stability of it, settling heavier onto his fat haunches. He was not oblivious to the fact that in this position, his stomach protruded all the more eloquently in front of him. Slughorn seemed quite taken with it, and smiled into the next sip of his brandy.

Slughorn's eyes were wide and warm, and his fingers drummed gently along the top of his tum as he swirled his drink. "I didn't get the impression that you thought so. I mean, you did let me have my way with you, earlier." 

Severus was grateful for the darkness of the room, for it hid one of his ridiculous blushes. 

*Imagine* what my father would think, if he heard that anyone had ever *had their way with* me. 

It was pretty nice, though. To think of someone 'having their way' with him, like he was an object designed to pleasure others. He knew he shouldn't like that, but it was kinky and wonderful, and made his breath catch. 

"I wouldn't say that alone was conclusive evidence," Severus stammered, trying to appear casual and offhanded, but he sipped his juice and found himself smiling at his former professor. "Then again, it might mean something." 

The older man leaned forward in his chair. He was dressed, as Severus was, in trousers and a shirt, but he had a silken dressing gown wrapped around him as well. His stomach, sumptuous and bulbous in a way that was distinctly different from Severus' paddedness, arched boldly beneath him. He looked like an enormous blimp, so full and taut and round that he was ready to pop. It seemed impossible for the man to eat another bite without exploding, though Severus knew this was likely not the case. It all just was the way his belly fat accumulated, and it was a glorious sight to see. 

The man's elegance was so comfortable and pleasant, and Severus found himself wanting to just... touch the other man. It needn't be much, just a swipe of the fingers across the man's brocade-adorned tum. To feel the velvet and silk against his palm, to assess the weight and viscosity of Slughorn's flesh, to fall into a dreamy reverie where the only things that existed were Slughorn's vastness and Severus' tongue... 

He was acutely aware of the way his fingers betrayed his thoughts - his arm lay protectively upon his own more feeble stomach, his pudgy fingertips running across his own blandly-textured shirt. 

Shite. He'd never have been so careless back in the death-eater days. Then again, this was a new world, and he'd put aside his skills and been getting both lazy and fat. Very, very fat. And very, very enjoyably so. 

His eyes wandered over Slughorn's stomach, and he began to fill with a depth of lust even though he felt like he'd had more than his sexual fill in the past few hours. 

Strangely, this was starting to become an enjoyable conversation. 

And the way that Slughorn was staring at him, and slowly grinning... well, Severus knew the other man found him *interesting.* 

"I didn't think we had enough time to ourselves, did you?" asked Slughorn, easing himself back into the chair, repositioning his candies on his tum, and feeding himself another delicacy. 

Severus wasn't sure how to respond to this, but then the other man added, with a wink, "Back when we both were teaching, side by side." 

Putting his brandy down on a side-table, Horace waved his wand effortlessly and summoned an ottoman, which he positioned between the two chairs. 

Severus wasn't sure what was expected. Slughorn put his own feet up on the ottoman, and relaxed all the more evocatively. But then he tapped his slippered foot upon the ottoman. "Come on, m'boy," he said encouragingly, "Take a load off! Your poor feet certainly have a lot of you to carry around." 

Severus groaned in acknowledgement, and he carefully raised his own feet to rest precariously on the edge of the pouf. "A lot more than they used to, at any rate," Severus said, feeling a rush of adrenaline in his ears as he fought the urge to either laugh nervously or screech with desire. "I've gotten a bit fat." 

The way Slughorn seized this observation as an opportunity to scrutinize Severus' body further... well, it left Severus feeling muddled and lightheaded. The intense concentration that Severus recognized from the classroom, focused on his own flabby body in lieu of a flobberworm food brew... well, it made his balls ache. The way Horace's slippered foot gently slipped out of said slipper and slid its way around Severus' ankle... well, it made his heart quiver like jingle bells on St. Nicholas' sleigh.

St. Nicholas. Oh, Horace would make such a *beautiful* St. Nicholas, if Muggle yule traditions ever were to catch on in Hogwarts. Severus really enjoyed a nice, fat St. Nicholas... 

Remembering that Christmas was fast approaching made Severus giddy with nerves. Which nerves he tried to ignore as something else began tingling in a way he couldn't ignore. Slughorn looked not that far off from St. Nicholas, actually, in his crimson silk robe and little silk nightcap, stroking his wide belly and nibbling on a sweet bit of candied orange. He looked positively *jolly* in the way that fat men were supposed to look, and quite merry, bright, and gay... 

Severus felt ashamed for feeling turned on by this fact, but Slughorn did look so fetching, and moreover Severus was really, really enjoying the way Horace was smiling and appraising Severus' body. 

As if measuring Severus with his eyes, and envisioning what Severus' body could be, Horace murmured appreciatively,"A bit. It's not *just* that your appetite's gotten bigger." 

Then, with a gentle hand, Horace leaned forward and laid one tentative hand on Severus' soft stomach. And then, he patted it, like he might pat the head of a precocious first year for whom he had high expectations. 

Jolts of electricity shot through Severus' body, every molecule in his being yearning to be fucked again by the former professor. A large part of him knew this was pathetic - so much of this desire was riding on the waves of his former sexual rejection by Slughorn, he realized - but the larger part of him didn't care. So what if this was a burgeoning opportunity to be fucked by a man who had never paid him *that* kind of attention before - now he was desirable to this man, possibly even irresistible. He felt a little bit like a Cinderella, though he acknowledged to himself how pathetic that was. He wasn't Cinderella, transformed into a beauty - indeed, he'd just gotten older and fatter - but as Slughorn looked at him, he couldn't help but feel like he was more beautiful than he'd ever been. 

Moreover, as he sat there thinking about it, he hadn't thought about how much that implicit sexual rejection by Slughorn (towards him) had hurt. 

So much of Severus' love life had centered around Lily, Lily, Lily. And as he sat there, feeling his hard dick protest against the confines of his trousers, he realized that his obsession with Lily had covered up layers of sexual rejection from other sources. 

*If you believe your heart has been destroyed by an axe, it makes it easier to ignore the stiletto knives shredding your ventricles,* Severus mused to himself. 

Despite these morbid thoughts, his boner was raging without consequences, and it was starting to get painful. 

"You seem to be in a bit of a bind," mused Horace, and his fingers drummed carefully upon Severus' stomach. "Allow me?" 

And then Severus found his head jerking backwards, his legs widening, and his pelvis rocking. His body was ready the instant Slughorn began to unbutton his too-tight waist, and he felt as alive and dangerous as a rocket. 

A big, fat rocket, but a rocket nonetheless. 

Indeed, he felt bewilderingly powerful as Horace Slughorn patiently wrapped one meaty hand around Severus' prick, and began to stroke. 

*I would never have joined the Death Eaters if I'd found this instead,* the thought automatically coursed through his mind as he moaned with arousal and pleasure. 

Horace's hand was slightly slippery and Severus realized it was oil; lubricant that smelled so delicious and fragrant, and overpowering, like chai tea brewing on a hot summer's day. He recognized the scent from earlier, and was a little surprised to know that Horace was responsible for bringing it to their session earlier. 

"Do you mind, m'boy, if I have a little taste?" asked Horace, and his eyes were full of delight and power. 

Oh, it was clear to Severus in that moment who *really* was in charge - any belief Severus entertained of *himself* being in charge was actually an orchestrated illusion, and now he could see it. Horace took exceptional pleasure in providing pleasure - and sometimes the pleasure was in the subtlety of making someone else believe they were in control. 

It was a multilayered approach, and he nodded with wide eyes, allowing Horace to scoot forward, lower his head, and wrap his lips around Severus' prick. 

He could dig it. Oh... oh yes, yes he could dig it. 

-Why was his internal monologue using terms like 'dig it.' So passe'.-

*Because you're regressing, you cotton-brained dunderhead,* Severus told himself. 

But he didn't have any more time to think, because Horace was bloody *good* at this oral sex thing. It was a bit on the whiskery side, thanks to the larger man's fantastic mustache, but that wasn't precisely a bad thing. Indeed. the stimulation on his shaft, as Horace went back and forth along the dick, was quite pleasant. 

And Severus appreciated the motions of the other man's lips, too; there was a suction and a sense of rhythm that seemed only to enhance the way the man sucked. 

Soon enough, Severus found his seed spilling into Horace's mouth, and the other man sucked it up with gusto. Sweaty and relieved, Severus sank back into the armchair and panted with all the exertions. 

"My goodness," said Horace, smiling prettily and dropping Severus' prick from his thick, juicy lips, "M'boy, how do you feel?"

"Like Samson," gasped Severus, and as he realized Horace was a bit out of depth, he added, "All the strength gone from me." 

"Ah, 'tis a pity," Horace said with good humor, standing straight with a hand to his back and deep, heaving breaths filling his gut. "There's a reason I've been eating all this pineapple, you know." 

Then, with a wink, suddenly he was completely clothesless, and Severus was appreciating the man more completely. Horace Slughorn, well readers, we've seen him naked before. But he looked a little different in the dim light of the fireplace and stars from the window. Slughorn's body immediately became more curvy, with the shadows highlighting the areas that had collected more adipose than elsewhere. Where in other situations he might have appeared a massive blob of a person, in the low light he had a sense of dimensionality to his body that was highly intriguing.

And, well, Severus was certainly intrigued. 

And *damn* that man's cock was huge! 

"Now one moment, please," Severus requested, playing up his exhaustion just the tiniest bit. "I must have a moment to breathe, Horace." 

"Take your time, m'boy," cooed Slughorn, seating himself in his chair cozily. His lovely arse and thighs spread wide beneath him, filling the entire space with soft and bobbing flesh. 

Indeed, Severus did need some recovery time to let the hormones that had rushed his brain to settle down and be reasonable again. 

"By the by," Severus asked, as his brain rushed through cycles of cloudiness, "Do you know whatever happened with Graham Plopp? I know he was one of your Slug Club members, and I don't want to embarrass myself at some gala to which he has invited me." 

Slughorn's eyes were steely at the mention of the other man's name. "I'm happy to fill you in, m'boy," he said, "but must it be now?" 

"No, indeed," Severus concurred, feeling all the more like a dunderhead. "It certainly need not." 

And with that, in an effort of supplication, he was on his knees, preparing for Slughorn to fuck his face. 

Sucking dick wasn't Severus' favorite activity, not by a long shot. He much preferred arse penetration overall, but once in a while, with the right person, he could be persuaded. 

And, well, that delish chai lube certainly made the right person even more attractive. 

Severus' lips surrounded Horace's cock, and it felt weighty and full and luscious. 

*Did Lucius ever do this?* Severus wondered, as he felt Horace's hand gently against the back of his head, guiding his efforts. What a silly question; of course Lucius did this. And undoubtedly with greater perfection than Severus ever could. 

*Why is Horace even bothering with me?* Severus thought, his aching heart starting to tense as much as his stiffening jaw. *I'm such rubbish at this.* 

"That's a good boy," murmured a voice from above, and Severus glanced upwards to see Horace beaming down at him, like the sun over the rim of a voluptuous hill. His mustache seemed to sparkle in the dim candlelight, and his eyes were full and warm with good humor. "Take a rest if you need to." 

The very suggestion repulsed Severus, who refused to consider resting until Slughorn was fully pleasured, and he found his hand rising to help stimulate Horace's shaft and balls. It was a supportive effort to the tools of his lips and tongue, and it was quite a satisfying effect. Slughorn was successfully teased from the role of director of this play, to instead enjoy the part of the audience, and Severus could see the appreciation in the way Slughorn's eyes were closed, his lips pursing with libido, and, finally, an enormous shudder that filled Severus' mouth. 

Severus hadn't quite forgot what Lucius' cum felt like on his tongue, having been subjected to it for so many years. He was pleasantly surprised at the taste of Horace's. The man's sweet tooth did indeed seem to impact the taste and flavor of his juices, and instead of the vague hint of oysters, there was the faintest idea of a pleasant Christmas pudding. He wasn't sure how much of it was the lubricant Horace employed, but it was festive, and Severus was pleased. 

Though when he looked up, a small smile starting to grow on his face, he found himself faltering. Slughorn seemed just the faintest bit disappointed; his eyes were closed, and there was something a bit furtive in the way they didn't open right away, as if Slughorn were reconciling his expectations with reality. 

No, this was not a good sign. And at this, Severus reverted to his usual default - walking on eggshells. 

"Like that, eh, m'boy?" asked the man in the chair, taking a moment to catch his breath. Then, opening his eyes finally, he beamed at Severus in a way that was distinctly Dumbledorian. "I'd say that's about done me in for the night." 

"I'm..." 

Severus nearly caught himself apologizing Horace, though he didn't know what he'd be apologizing for. For not executing sex to his own specifications of excellence? Severus knew that Horace was discerning in all things relating to his own pleasure, and Severus felt absolutely sure that he'd bombed the exam. What good would an apology be for bad sex? 

"Is this your own brew, Horace?" Severus asked, bringing his oily fingers close to his face, smelling the lubricant. One of his many favorite tricks, when he didn't know what to say, was to distract and divert. 

If Slughorn cottoned on, Severus couldn't tell - the other man's face was fairly inscrutable in its jollyness. "Yes indeed, m'boy. Based off of amortentia, as it happens." The older man proceeded to grin slyly at Severus. "You know Amortentia's always been one of my favorite classroom brews." 

"I do indeed," drawled Severus, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable as he sat on the floor with quite a bit more dishevelment than he thought appropriate. After a few deep breaths, he heaved himself up and began to study his appearance, gazing down and flicking off invisible spots of lint from his fancy dress clothes. With a heaving sigh, followed by a distinct sucking-in of his gut, he buttoned his trousers again and made himself more presentable. 

Slughorn watched with interest, but there was something that had faded out of his eyes - some excitement, something that Severus couldn't pin down. It was gone before he knew it was there, and Severus mouned the loss of whatever it was. Because chances were, tonight was to be a one-time affair, and that broke his heart to realize. 

No, no, it didn't break his heart. He had Hermione. She was so much better than Slughorn for him as a partner. He loved her so much... 

But he also wanted to know that this wasn't just the end of his relations with Horace. It wasn't that Horace was... to replace Hermione, of course. Much less Erika, of course of course. But Severus was finding that Horace was someone valuable, someone he didn't want to lose to a petty misunderstanding or poorly executed plot. 

Severus didn't know what to say, so he did his best to pretend that he did. There was no way he'd get Lily back, but he'd be damned if he'd let a single opportunity pass that bore any resemblance to Lily's departure from his life. 

Who knew - maybe he'd be lucky, and maybe someday, someone would stay. 

"I don't know whether you pursue these kinds of adventures often," Severus said, easing into the chair again and taking his plate of food in hand. All the while, trying to keep the edge of certain defeat out of his voice.

"Oh, here and there," Slughorn said modestly. This was clearly code for (in Severus' mind) "Nonsense, I'm absolutely crawling in young folks eager to share their lithe young enthusiasm with me, and I'm honestly shocked at myself for having taken the time to explore you, you piece of shit." 

But ever the masochist, Severus pressed on, though he felt like his questions were leading his target towards a quick departure. He thrust a bite into his mouth, swallowed, and continued to press forward. 

"And do you typically pursue these kinds of adventures... with a spirit of frolic and frivolity?" Severus asked, feeling a lump forming in the back of his throat. 

Slughorn merely seemed puzzled, which was honestly a relief. Severus didn't want to see Dumbledore in Horace's face, and puzzled was never a look that Dumbledore had the courage to wear. 

"As opposed to what?" Horace asked, and there was a careful strength behind the words, as if he were removing a sword from a scabbard, but was unsure of what he was going to do with it once it was out. 

"As opposed to..." Severus waved his hand absently as he eased a large bite of buttered bread into his mouth, chewed it, and swallowed it. "...thoughtful and intentional pursuits." 

There was a significant silence on Slughorn's end - so much so that Severus had to glance up from his food, and check to make sure the older wizard hadn't fallen asleep mid-conversation. 

"I suppose my approach has more to do with what's on offer, than anything else," Slughorn said, studying Severus carefully. 

"And what would you prefer to be on offer?" Severus asked, feeling a heat building up in his cheeks. 

*Don't get your bloody hopes up, you dunderhead,* he scolded himself with wicked ferocity. *Don't believe in anything for a moment.* 

"And who, exactly, do you think I am, to ask?" Slughorn said, with surprising sincerity, and Severus was so shocked that he actually dropped his fork. It landed on the ground, and out of both dismay and a desire to pay better attention, Severus put his plate on the side table and leaned forward towards Slughorn. 

The other man's eyes were narrow, and his brow was furrowed. And then Severus began to realize that the older man... Horace was fighting back what seemed to be tears. 

Tears? Well then. Severus' self-pity instantly evaporated, and his anger rose. "What," Severus said hotly, and before he could stop himself, he bit out, "do you think you caused the second war with Voldemort?" 

"Not directly, no," answered Horace, who sounded as calm as he could be despite having a heavy silk handkerchief dabbing at his eyes. "But I certainly didn't do my fair part to stop it." 

"Blame is a fool's errand," Severus said sharply, knowing the advice was such that he himself should be taking. "Don't accept it. No one else puts it on your shoulders." 

"Ah, but there's the rub," Slughorn said, and sighed deeply. "They should." 

This was cringeworthy, from Severus' point of view - he'd spent so long trying to talk himself out of these kinds of ridiculous thought patterns, recognizing them in someone else was just too frustrating to see. "I can't help you," Severus said, rolling his eyes. "If that's what you believe. The causes of this war were so many, Horace - so many fatal coincidences chained together in an impossible domino effect of fuckery - but if you think you were the domino that could have stopped the waves of history, have at it. I'll happily send over some of my own baggage for you to claim." 

"Silly boy," Horace said, and his voice was soft. He dabbed at his eyes, but he was smiling gently. "You were so young when all of that started. Any mistakes you made were merely contextual. You were a product of your environment, so to speak." 

Then, Horace leaned forward as well, and extended a hesitant hand. Severus numbly accepted it. "I... I so admire your bravery, Severus. I wish I'd had half of that bravery - hell, even a quarter of it - but like the coward I am, I scarcely did anything. I barely did what little I could, and by then it was almost too late." 

*Brave? Me?* 

Oh, what a load of tosh. Severus knew he was just a goddamn piece of shit from Spinner's End who academically and sexually whored his way into being accepted by so-called friends in a genocidal authoritarian regime, and then once he'd realized his mistakes - only when the one person who'd ever believed in him was in immediate danger due to his own foolishness - he began to work on fixing what he'd broken. 

If that was bravery, fixing a shattered vase was brave. And Severus wasn't prepared to think of himself in that particular light, at least not now. 

"I..." 

Severus frowned, trying to come up with a response. His head was starting to hurt. 

"Learn to take a compliment, m'boy. It's a gift." 

A hint of sorrowful amusement began to bubble up in Slughorn's face, as Severus was taken aback by the admonishment. 

"There's not much a broken, fat old man like me can bring to the world, m'boy. Not much more than a smile and a little bit of kindness. Will you accept these, paltry though they might be?" 

Severus was decidedly confused. Was this a way of telling him to shove off? It didn't *seem* like it, but... 

"To clarify," Slughorn amended, seeming to read the questions on Severus' face. "Do you have an interest in pursuing some sort of... non frivolous adventure, together?" 

"With you?" Severus asked, still taken aback. His stomach rumbled, and he shook his head incredulously. "If that is what you ask, certainly. Provided there's something with which you're willing to... assist me." 

"Ask away," said Horace, his face taking on a worried schema. 

Then, taking the plunge, Severus pronounced wickedly, "Find me some other fork, since it seems I've lost mine." 

"With pleasure," said Slughorn, and there was a deep sigh of relief in his voice as he tottered into a standing position. As Severus' stomach rumbled, the man leaned forward, gave Severus a quick peck on the forehead, and squeezed Severus' generous lovehandle. 

And then, before Severus could protest his giddy spinning brain, Slughorn's expansive arse was headed towards the sideboards to fetch a new serving utensil. 

 

 

 

Mozart: Piano Sonata in A Major K 331.   
Cabaret - Maybe This Time


	82. leaving luna?

Neville found himself picking at his third plate of breakfast cakes, staring at a letter. 

"I'll be on my way home soon. See you just before Christmas. Make sure you keep your shoes off the ground at night; I'm told that granglespoiks are invasive this year. No doubt that old castle is crawling with them. Also, put lavender salts behind your ears before you go to bed; it keeps them from growing lakschmees when your nightmares are bad. I hope you use that potion I sent? That's all from me, Luna." 

Her writing was scrabbly and unkempt, and Neville's heart ached to see it. Every time he received a letter from her, it was a little bit different - the lines of her cramped handwriting tilted one way or another, textured by the granite stone upon which she wrote it, colored with grass stains, warped by snow, smelling of flowers or fowls. 

His finger traced the crimson stains on this particular parchment. Was that from berry, or blood? He wouldn't be surprised if it were either. Stranger things had found their way into his morning mail, from Luna. 

The potion she mentioned - well, that'd come a few posts ago. He hadn't been using it, actually, but not from forgetfulness. One of the few truly useful things he'd learned in Snape's class over the years was DO NOT TRUST STRANGE AND UNUSUAL POTIONS. 

Especially when the stated purpose of such potions was an 'ointment' for one of his most sensitive bodily areas. 

Luna, in her cheerful naivete, hadn't mentioned anything about the potion other than that he should use it, and that she'd gotten it from an Icelandic shaman, whatever that meant. The brown bottle in which it was kept - well, it looked about as old as Neville himself, if not older. There was a paper label on it, and scrawled instructions for use, but no list of ingredients. 

Oh, Luna. Neville shook his head, his face flushing with shame as he thought about his predicament. 

The pair of them were seemingly always thrust together by fate, starting from the time they were in the DA together. And he was always 100% bewildered by her, though nowadays he sometimes felt like he understood her just a little bit better than others did. She would, at times, blatantly ignore him, to the point where he wondered if she even knew his name, and then she'd suddenly turn around and ask him on a midnight stroll to some godforsaken part of the castle after dark. They'd have a curious and intimate time, where he'd feel like he'd fallen down a rabbit hole - Luna's attention would focus on him, her eyes would shine in delight and laughter, and he'd feel strangely powerless in her wake. And then the next day it'd be back to normal, and she'd be treating him like any other classmate. 

All of their interactions were like that - explosions of stardust, or neutral low-impact bumps in the dark. He found that he generally could rely on her for needs in Dumbledore's Army - but only because she seemed to take that work seriously. One of the very few things that she did, come to think of it. 

After he graduated, she still had another year of studies. He worked as Pomona's apprentice on the Hogwarts grounds, and they started colliding more than ever. He wondered whether it was intentional, or not. 

Sooner than later, he found himself sleeping with her. Literally, sleeping. As in, they shared his bed, cuddled, kissed, and all other couple-y things other than sex. And she basically moved into his rooms. 

In any other set of years, it would have been mildly dangerous for a graduated apprentice to spend such intimate time with a student, even if she was of age. But in the year following the war, so much of the world was upended, and so many people were absorbed in their own heartbreak, that Luna and Neville were able to latch on to each other and no one gave a damn. 

Amazingly, she stuck around after she graduated, spending nearly every night in his bed, and they'd enjoy each others' company. At least, Neville would enjoy Luna's company. The only reason he had to believe that she enjoyed *his* company was that she kept coming back, and she didn't seem to have any other reason to keep doing that. 

(To be fair, Luna was very frank on the rare occasions that she expressed her feelings - "Of course I love you, silly," - but these sorts of remarks left Neville feeling tantalized, desperately wanting more of that kind of affirmation. But he was always too scared, to ask her directly. He felt like with any misstep on his part, she'd spook, like a horse, and go running off into the sunset and never look back.) 

He loved her. That much was true. How could he not love someone so beautiful and wild? No matter how ruddy and domestic he was, he could appreciate her unbridled spirit. Probably because it spoke to his own spirit, which was troublingly broken due to circumstance. 

To see the two of them together, most people probably wouldn't see the point. They seemed as different as air and earth, and just as incompatible. 

But he knew better. He was indeed earth, but she was actually water - just as flexible as air, but a little bit more tricky, and apt to be confused at times. And water and earth went well together - how else were green things to successfully grow? 

Their similarities outweighed their differences. The key difference between them, he realized, was how much they cared about things. 

Like him, Luna wasn't conventionally pretty; where Neville was round and pizza-faced, Luna had harsh lines in the face and an awkward, gangly body, with practically no curves to her late-bloomer figure. But unlike him, Luna never seemed to mind. Like him, she was absent-minded and forgetful. But unlike him, she never seemed fazed by her lapses in memory. Like him, Luna had suffered enormous traumas in life, specifically losing her mother to an explosive potions experiment (caused by her infant self, she admitted in her more vulnerable moments). But unlike him, Luna never seemed to think about her missing parent, never seemed to sink into despair about the mess of her life, and never seemed to get stuck in caring too much about something. 

No, he and Luna were different in distinct ways, like two different pitches on the piano, but they combined to create a melodious noise. For the most part. 

The key items of dissonance were what had led Luna to go on her self-seeking journey, Neville knew. Because fundamentally, she wasn't really hunting for the crumple-horned whatsit. She knew just as well as him - there wasn't such a creature - but she only came close to admitting it when you *really* drilled her on the topic. 

Instead, almost all of her strange and fascinating creatures were items of herself, externalized. When she said her home was invaded by rickety-rim-rumples, she was confessing to an excessive amount of clutter in the house. When she said she was plagued by gnargles, she actually was facing depression symptoms. And when she said she had a hot new tip about the locale of the crumple-horned snorckack, well, Neville knew she really needed to get away from him for a while. 

Despite the colorful trappings, he knew she was hurting, and it hurt to know that she couldn't articulate things the way most people did. But he had always known Luna thought about things so much more differently than others. The difference between him and other people was that he actually heard the meaning beneath the distractions. 

He just knew that a shared language wasn't enough for a successful long-term relationship. 

.................. 

He'd found out about his lymphoma in November of last school year - the first clue being when he'd fainted in front of his class. Given that the winter hols were just about to happen, Neville decided to hold off telling Luna until after the new year. It wasn't as if the rate of his cancer's progression was affected by how soon he told his woman. 

A not-insubstantial part of this initial delay in telling Luna was sexual frustration. She claimed to want to take things slowly, which meant they'd been dating for years without having done the deed. He was hoping to finally complete this bond before telling her about his illness. It was irrational, and petty - but he felt like before he made himself that vulnerable to her, she needed to make herself vulnerable to him. 

As it happened, when you wait for someone to do something without telling them you're waiting, you're doomed to wait forever. In retrospect, he realized that he'd known this, and subconsciously set up that benchmark as a way of avoiding the difficult task ahead of him. 

In this purpose, his tactic was very effective. Once he put off telling Luna about his cancer, he continued the pattern of avoidance. It became increasingly easy to rationalize this approach, and justify his silence, as the months wore on.

Xenophilius had a sudden major health scare just before Christmas of that year, resulting in his death just after the new year dawned. Luna was devastated by her father's death and deeply suffered during the next several months. She lost some of her lustre, her imaginativeness. Some amount of her creative and curious spirit was broken by her father's death. 

Neville couldn't imagine what she'd look like if he told her that he, too, was close to death. 

Caregiving was not a pretty business, Neville knew from intimate experience, and he didn't want that for Luna's life if his disease turned worse. Neville would never wish upon another human being the endless waiting he'd endured his whole life - seeing his beloved parents out-of-sorts, practically hoping for them to die so that he could hold onto the memories of what they'd been like before they got sick. He was glad that Xeno hadn't lingered. Once his rational faculties died, his body followed soon after. 

Perhaps, though, it might have been better for Luna if he'd lingered, with her poor sense of boundaries and her deep attachment to her father. 

In any case, suddenly in March of that year, with Neville still having avoided the subject of his illness, Luna had burst out of his life like a torpedo. With the first hint of spring, she had a surge of energy - unusual since her father's death. She said she had some new ideas on how to find the crumple-horned snorckack, and needed to go to Finland promptly, before the wet season started. 

And Neville had actually been grateful. He was spared having to provide her with explanations for several more months. 

Though, at the same time, he'd been simultaneously resentful. His illness - and the potions associated with it - had already wrought havoc on his body, leading him to an exceptional thinness that rivaled even his bony girlfriend. Why hadn't she noticed? Why hadn't she asked him anything about it? 

He didn't know. And the knowledge that she *hadn't* noticed, that she hadn't said anything... this made Neville angry. Too angry. At some moments, his anger led him to feel like he didn't want to be with her anymore. But at other moments, he knew his heart was unable to accommodate any others quite as uniquely as she'd fit into his. 

But he was grateful that she'd taken the first step in walking out of his life. It meant that after a few months of responding half-heartedly to her kissy-kissy letters, he sent her a breakup letter. 

And ever since, she'd still been mailing him same as usual, as if she'd never received that breakup letter. 

He responded when he had the energy. He usually reminded her that they weren't together anymore, but she never seemed to acknowledge this. 

His responses weren't often, and when they happened they weren't much, especially as the school year ended and he spent most of the summer exhaustedly crashed in bed. She sent letters haphazardly, dashed off when she was thinking of him, apparently, and without much cohesion between them. Sometimes she gave him the same bit of news three different times. Sometimes she contradicted herself in the same letter, particularly when it came to plans and dates and times she was going to be returning. 

Every letter from her was heartbreaking, not the least of which was because she really didn't seem to understand. They had profoundly *worked* at some point, but Neville wasn't prepared to try and make it work again. At least not right now. If he recovered, then, well, he'd think about it. 

Still, he was firm in his conviction that he was going to marry her eventually, provided he stayed alive long enough. His heart believed it with every fiber of his being - there was no better woman for him. Even when his head told him that she was never going to change, and that she wasn't ever going to notice him or care about him in the ways he wanted. Luna was like a moonbeam - gorgeous and unreliable.

And what Neville wanted, right now, was something Luna couldn't give him even in her best moments. He wanted to be taken care of. He wanted to be housed, and fed, and watered. He wanted the burden of responsibility removed from his shoulders, for once. He wanted to not *have* to be the strong one. 

Contrary to popular belief, Neville had never doubted his strength of character. His earliest memories involved his grandmother admonishing him to 'be strong' and stop crying when he saw his parents for the first time. That kind of rot was the constant theme of his childhood. He'd put up with bullying, various levels of peer punishment as well as punishment from authorities. *CoughcoughSNAPEcoughcough.* What Neville always doubted was others' abilities to recognize how much he had to fight every day just to keep showing up to life. Neville believed that his life was sisyphean, though he didn't have that kind of word available to him. He was constantly in combat with the world and the myriad injustices committed against him - and while on the face of it, he was calm, even-handed, and fairly bumbling, there was a deep current of resentment and despair in his heart. 

So: as he dealt with his illness, he needed someone reliable, responsible, and a fighter. Someone to do his fighting for him, alongside him. Not someone who would be oblivious to his pain - dancing in the forest, surrounded by falling blossom - while he was close to death. Someone who would tend to his wounds and concernedly lecture him on how stupid he'd been. Someone like Hermione.

................... 

This was what he'd been facing, emotionally, when he'd started this school year. And he still couldn't believe the following three things: 

a. That he'd fucked Hermione Granger  
b. That Hermione Granger found him desirable and attractive in his natural piggish, over-fed state   
c. That he'd fucked Hermione Granger 

And also, that 

d. He'd fucked Hermione Granger. 

Hermione had always loomed so large in his imagination, while they were in school together, and even after. She was beautiful - well, in an underappreciated way, with her short stature, fluffy hair and ever-furrowed brow. He'd always thought her attractive, and wondered why on earth Harry and Ron were such idiots to ignore her. 

Not to mention how much of a force she was to be reckoned with. 

Maybe it had something to do with his grandmother - oh, what the hell, who was he kidding, he was sure it had something to do with his grandmother - but Hermione's strength of conviction, intelligence, and no-nonsense attitude seemed particularly *right* to Neville. He liked that she pursued her ideas with wild abandon and ferocity, and many times while seeing her in the midst of a book, he wished it was *his* pages she was studiously perusing. 

Oh, yes. Even just the thought of her examining his body, under that intense gaze - the very idea drove him completely bonkers. 

The complicated part was reconciling the feelings he had for Luna, and the feelings he had for Hermione. 

Was it possible to love two people at once? Even though Hermione purported to, Neville wondered if this was even possible. He felt love was like the perfume of a flower - he would be overwhelmed by whatever particular scent was surrounding him at any given moment. Now this didn't mean he was unable to remember any other scents in that moment, but it was hard to concentrate on more than one at any given time. 

So yes, he supposed it was possible for him to love two women simultaneously. After all, one could love the smell of gardenia just as much as one could love the smell of iris. But could he smell both at once? He wasn't sure about that. 

But that test was probably due to come very soon. 

And he wasn't relishing it. 

................... 

Neville continued to plod through his breakfast until he was interrupted by a flushed and gorgeous Hermione. 

"Happy Christmas Eve," she said, pecking him on the cheek and sitting down in the chair next to him. He returned her greeting with a smile and a mumbled "Happy Christmas" of his own.

She already smelled like buttery pastries, which assured him that this was her second breakfast of the day. He didn't particularly find her burgeoning waistline more appealing than her trimmer profile of old, and watching her eat wasn't particularly a turn-on for him. 

But what *was* a turn-on was the way one hand fed her plump-cheeked face, while her other made its disappearance beneath the tablecloth. 

He wasn't precisely sure what her hand was doing, beneath the tablecloth, but he desperately wanted to find out. 

With his trademark clumsiness, he dropped a spoon, and it tumbled far out of sight near their feet. "Pardon me a moment," Neville said, glancing around the staff table. No one was paying them the slightest of attention, and McGonagall - who he *really* was afraid of - wasn't there. 

Still, his cheeks were obviously red as he dismounted from his chair and went straight to the floor, on his hands and knees, in the position of the least possible dignity. 

And once he was safely under the tablecloth - bumping his head distinctly *hard* on the underside of said table - he wasn't disappointed.

Hermione's dress was hiked up around her plump thighs, which were stretchmarked all up and down on the inner fleshy part. Hermione's hand was tucked inside her pants, and a telltale motion of fingers was engrossing her attention. 

For several minutes, Neville just watched, fascinated by the scrambling fingers that seemed too slick to compete with. He felt unable to respond in a really useful way. 

But then he came up with an idea, and he began to lick the inside of Hermione's thighs, particularly the place near the crotch where her pants encountered her juicy flesh.

The pants were tight against her skin, and as he loosened them with his fingers for the purpose of getting better access, he saw how squished and trapped her parts really were beneath the cloth. Unfurling her like a reluctant flower, he peeled apart her labias and watched how she stroked, tantalized, and teased herself. 

He wasn't the kind of man who ached to give oral - which made him feel all the more ashamed of himself and his sexuality - but he felt like he might be willing to try. It was, at least, convenient. 

All too soon, though, he was blinking and heavily breathing, and he felt a soft hand on his shoulder. "Neville? You alright?" 

He shouldn't have allowed his mind to take him on this little adventure. "Of course," he said, feeling incredibly stupid as his fantasy broke across his face like a splash of water. 

"You sure?" Hermione was asking. Her eyes were wide and sincere, and her brow was furrowed. Her round face was pursed with concern, and Neville felt like such a fool for even remotely inconveniencing her. 

"Yeah," he said, hiding his face with another generous bite of pancake. 

While she clearly didn't believe him, she was gracious enough to stop pestering him - for the moment, at least. And he was grateful, though also quite embarrassed at the knowledge that she wouldn't let this go. 

"What classes do you have this morning?" he asked automatically, as he focused on his food, and he heard Hermione laugh somewhat harshly. 

"You really are out of it," she said with a shaking head. "School is out of session for winter hols." 

"Oh, of course," Neville said, feeling like an antique musicbox ballerina desperately trying - and failing - to enchant Hermione. "So, erm, would you like to come upstairs with me after breakfast?" 

She smiled at him, appreciatively. "I would, actually. If you promise me one thing." 

Neville felt his face grow a little bit more pale. "What?" he asked, expecting her to try and stuff a few more crumbs in his face. He burped slightly, feeling suddenly overfull. 

Hermione raised her hand from under the table. Clutched in her hand was the strap of her crossbody bookbag, which she was fondling with delicate fingers. "I've got loads of work to do. Want to make a morning of it?" 

"That's fine," Neville said, feeling at once like he'd dodged a bullet, and also like he had missed an opportunity. It took him a moment to parse his feelings.

He felt more acutely than ever before that Luna was going to be returning home, and soon. And despite how much he'd complained about it before, that eventuality had seemed much more distant in the past. Presently, that future seemed a lot closer, and it made him a lot more uncomfortable. 

What was he going to do? When Luna was newly gone, leaving him reeling, Hermione Granger had caught him and thrown him into a rabbit hole - and somehow he'd landed on the other side of his lifelong abuser, Severus Snape. 

Obviously this wasn't an ideal situation to face, when Luna was finally on the brink of returning, and when Luna seemed obstinately in denial about their breakup. Did Luna expect him to just fall into place when she returned, ready and eager to be her lapdog once again? Did Luna think he was so stiff-minded that he'd wait for her to pursue other opportunities for happiness? 

Neither of these motives seemed particularly ripe for a happy life with Luna. Not that a life with Hermione was likely to be particularly happy either. 

But the thing that Hermione had done was help him see that his life... it didn't have to end with Luna's leaving. Whereas Luna was so unpredictable that Neville had to be her anchor, Hermione was so predictable that Neville had freedom with her. And Neville was quite loathe to lose this newfound freedom.

Maybe, he contemplated as Hermione eased herself out of the chair, took his arm, and escorted him upstairs, his future lay beyond that beautiful yellow hair. Maybe he should have left Luna a long time ago. 

He wondered if maybe he and Hermione should try out that potion, together. See if it worked as advertised. 

 

*i'm ret-coning the implication that Neville is new to the Hogwarts staff as of this year. this doesn't make a lot of sense and I've mentally retconned it for a while, so ignore the implication from chapter 4. instead canon is that he has been basically apprenticing @ Hogwarts since graduation. 

songs: Goodbye Yellow Brick Road


	83. all the changes you've been through

Hermione and Neville were curled up together on the sofa, Hermione's stockinged feet in Neville's lap and Neville massaging them idly. 

 

"I like your socks," Neville said, pressing his thumb into the soft part of Hermione's arch. 

 

"Mm," Hermione answered appreciatively. Her pen scratched a comment on the parchment, and sighed. "They're from Mrs. Weasley," she said softly, her toes curling. 

 

Neville looked up to meet her eyes and was surprised to see her face formed into the notes of sadness. 

 

"It's so weird," Hermione said, as Neville continued to rub her feet, "to think that the most maternal person in my life right now is someone who isn't even my mother." 

 

"It's not that weird," Neville said, a pang striking his heart at Hermione's thoughtlessness. 

 

Hermione shook her head briskly, as she realized who she was talking to. "Of course," she said, and explained, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. But it's weird for me. I didn't exactly mourn my parents when I thought they were safe in Australia. I didn't miss them. But now that they're here..." 

 

She reached over to the side table and took a sip from her tea mug. "It's starting to really settle on me, how much I took from them. Who knows?" She stared into her mug. "Maybe they would have fought with me. For me. Like your parents did." 

 

Neville cracked a sad smile. "Yeah, and maybe, like my parents, they'd both end up permanently out of action." 

 

"But at least your parents had a choice," Hermione said. Her eyes were beginning to get a little watery. "I thought I knew what was best for them." Her chest heaved, and she drew a lap throw tighter about her shoulders. 

 

Neville couldn't help but admire this beautiful woman, who was making herself so vulnerable in front of him. Who trusted him enough to let him witness the depth of her sadness. 

 

His heart ached as he realized he'd never felt this way with Luna. He really wished he had. But it seemed like Luna kept him at arm's length, never allowing him the intimacy that he craved with her. 

 

"I can't argue with that," he said softly. "But if I'd had to choose on their behalf, I think I'd probably have chosen to keep them safe. Like you did. That's what love means, I think. Wanting to keep people safe who you care about." 

 

"Not always," Hermione said with a smile of her own, "but thank you." 

 

They sat together in the slightly uncomfortable glow of companionable not-quite-agreement, the fire crackling cheerfully. 

 

Hermione then lifted her pen and continued marking the parchment she was reading. Without looking up, she asked, "Don't you have anything to grade? It's not like I'm the only one who teaches here, right?" 

 

"No, I've got my own papers, don't you fret," Neville said, rubbing her feet with his palms vigorously, to warm them up, "But they don't bloody matter when I've got you in my room." 

 

"You're sweet," Hermione said, swiftly crossing something out in the paper. She seemed about to say more, but then there was a strange buzzing in her bra. 

 

"What's that?" Neville asked, eyes wide. It sounded like an insect.

 

"Oh," Hermione said, and pulled a little pink flip-phone out from between her large breasts. "One moment." 

 

She proceeded to squint at the screen, and then looked up to Neville. "Is it alright if Severus comes and joins us? He's a little lonely." 

 

Neville, startled, had several reactions simultaneously: 

 

a. It looked like he wasn't going to be able to fuck Hermione this morning (as per his plan) 

b. However, given Hermione's concentration on her work, it seemed unlikely that his plan was successful 

c. Therefore the further obstacle of having Snape show up wasn't likely to impact the chances of Sex With Hermione all that much

d. But SNAPE. 

e. But Hermione liked Snape and tolerating Snape would earn Neville bonus points 

f. but SNAPE

g. but bonus points

h. remember that if Snape starts picking on him, Hermione wouldn't tolerate it 

i. But SNAPE

j. But bonus points, and also it wasn't being one-on-one with Snape 

k. Also Lonely-Snape sounded a lot less fearsome than unknown-quality Snape. 

 

So in response, Neville sighed. "I guess it's alright." 

 

"You *guess?*" Hermione asked, and she was staring at him with a frown and intense concentration. 

 

He wasn't going to get away with halfhearted consent, that was for sure. Hermione cared too much about him for that to fly.

 

So, he amended, "Yes, it's fine. Just as long as you don't leave us alone together." 

 

Hermione nodded in response, wary and attentive to Neville even as she typed a quick text message response. "He'll bring his computer; he just wants some company." 

 

Neville nodded, though he hated the fact that Snape was intruding on what he felt was *his* time with Hermione. 

 

He didn't have long to stew in it, though, because soon enough there was a timid knock on the door, and Hermione laboriously started to struggle up. "I'll get it," Neville said, rising up from the sofa and hurrying to the door. 

 

He couldn't help but notice a familiar heftiness around his middle, and huffiness as he got his arse up out of the pillows. He was rounding out to his old self again, for better or worse. 

 

................. 

 

The man on the other side of the door was expectant, hesitant, and just a little bit pathetic. And, moreover, he also seemed to be quite aware of how pathetic he looked. As Neville looked the man over, Snape fidgeted with his cloak, drawing it just a bit over his stomach so as to hide its immense proportions. There was a spot of something that looked like crimson castup stain on the front of Severus' belly, something the man seemed unlikely to have noticed. Some white crumbs decorated Snape's collar like stars, also unseen by the large man who was unaccustomed to being so big. Neville was nearly as tall as Severus, as they stood in front of each other, and Neville could see the other man's hair was thinning just a bit, and graying at the temples. That, and the other man was breathing just a little bit heavy, even as he stood there. The glasses on his nose were precariously perched, and made his face look even more portly. 

 

Snape had gotten old, and fat, and disgusting. And the wholeness of this picture was of some secret delight to Neville. 

 

Moreover, Snape was in poor emotional command of himself. While outwardly he was calm, there was a hint of nervousness in his face as he scanned Neville in return. Neville wondered if it was a figment of his own imagination, except then Snape swallowed distinctly, his adam's apple bobbing in his thick neck. 

 

Was Snape worried, about *him*? Why? 

 

Trying to maintain some dignity despite Neville's incredulity, Severus greeted Neville with a graceful incline of the head, and then swirled into the room. The older man had a laptop under his arm, and he looked even more like an overstuffed black bear than usual. His tummy bulged against the tightness of his trousers, his double stomach spilling over the rim while his massive lower belly fully filled the front-rise. Neville doubted there was enough room for two fingers to stick in the waist comfortably. 

 

And somehow, seeing Snape so humiliated and overcome, yielding control of his body and keeling so readily to its self-pleasuring whims... that filled Neville with an amount of satisfaction. It seemed like an appropriate karmic response - the predator becoming prey to himself. 

 

"Hello, sweetheart," Hermione said, as Severus approached Hermione from behind, embraced her in a one-armed hug, and pecked the woman on the top of her head. 

 

"Hello," he mumbled softly, squeezing her tightly. 

 

Indeed, as Neville watched, it was a little easier to forget that the man before him was the same that had dropped so much abuse on his poor childhood shoulders. Snape no longer looked like a steel vulture covered with the thinnest veneer of flesh, eagerly awaiting the opportunity to entrap Neville in one of Neville's own words. 

 

When a person dramatically changes their appearance, for whatever reason, it can dramatically impact how others see them. And now, in this moment, Neville was acutely aware that the man he saw wasn't the same one of ten years ago. That man would've been pleased to hold his students over a boiling cauldron and coldly drop them into it if they didn't perform to expectations. This one seemed no less strict, but more inclined to demand compensation in the form of a bribe. Like a dinner at Diagon Alley's best restaurant, or a box of chocolates. 

 

Predators with that lean and hungry look, indeed, can become much more cuddly and comfortable when they've been satiated. The look of desperation and nihilistic avarice previously in Snape's face had become something beautiful and new. 

 

Indeed, especially as he hugged Hermione, Snape looked like he had something to live for - something he was afraid of losing. Even if it just was his ability to experience hedonistic pleasure, Snape no longer looked like a soldier who had been crushed to the point where he no longer cared if he lived or died. It seemed like Snape had a stake in the world now, like something mattered to him other than his desire to punish and torment. Even if the only thing that mattered was the satisfaction of his stomach, Neville felt like there was at least something relateable about Snape now. An obvious vulnerability. 

 

And somehow this obvious vulnerability made the man seem a whole lot less scary. Not completely *unscary,* mind, because Neville knew what the man was capable of, and believed the man could make a hairpin turn into Evil territory without warning. But it knocked him down several pegs from 'Worse than Voldemort Scary,' which was where Neville had always put the man. 

 

Snape's abstinence streak also seemed to be fading away, and he seemed willing to indulge in human comforts. While he still wore practically nothing but black robes with a vicarlike number of buttons, and remained mysterious and withdrawn, he didn't choose the least comfortable chair in the room. (Neville remembered the squeaky, knobby wooden chair Snape preferred in the potions classroom. It made Neville's tailbone hurt just to remember it.) 

 

Indeed, comfort seemed Snape's primary aim. With a whisk of a wand, Snape expanded Neville's most comfy armchair to the exactly right proportions for the lush modern Snapian arse, and seated himself in it. And then out of seemingly nowhere, he whisked a plate of Christmas biscuits, and extended the plate to Neville. (Not without taking one of the choicest gingerbreads first.) 

 

"Thanks," Neville said, finding the word remarkably easy to say to Severus Snape, despite everything. 

 

The other man's eyes were observant, just a shade calculating. A twist of the man's lips was the only response, which Neville took to be as close to a sincere smile as the man was capable of. 

 

Ignoring this, Neville took the plate from the man and gave it to Hermione, who happily put the entire plate in her plump lap and began to munch on some nutmeg and almond cookies. 

 

Still feeling immensely full from breakfast, Neville heard himself asking, "Do you ever stop eating?" 

 

Hermione's eyes were wicked as she raised them from her grading. "I try not to," she said, glancing between both men. She rested a hand atop the curve of her stomach. "I'm a growing girl, after all. Have to keep fueling this brain." She tapped her forehead, and this elicited a moan from Snape. 

 

"Damn it, vixen," said Snape, his face stern. "I've got work to do. If you're interested in playing games, you've got the wrong man." He settled back in the chair and sighed, getting comfortable. 

 

Neville found an irrational surge of rage in his veins as he looked across the scene. What the hell did Hermione see in that fat bastard? How on earth did Snape justify getting comfortable in Neville's most favorite chair? (Granted, Neville was clearly camped out on the couch, with Hermione, but that didn't matter.) 

 

And most of all, Neville was upset that he'd agreed to letting this man into his home. This was still Severus Snape, fat or not. The man who taunted him for years, and years, and never was punished for it... 

 

The rage was real. The anger was there. 

 

But he swallowed his feelings by shoving a sugar biscuit or three down his throat, staring at Snape with dismal incredulity. 

 

This wasn't sustainable. Soon enough, he knew he was going to meet his threshold for bullshit, and he'd confront Snape with all of the ferocity of a Gryffindor who had no other choices. 

 

Granted, the knowledge that was growing in his tight throat and shaking hands and sharp breathing... this knowledge that he wasn't going to be able to sit there and watch Snape become a tumor in his life without some sort of fucking APOLOGY.... it made him feel petty, and weak, and useless, and wicked. 

 

And chances were, Hermione wouldn't be able to forgive him for what he wanted to do to the man. He wondered if, perhaps, Luna might. 

..................................

Somehow he kept his inner werewolf from tearing apart the otherwise-comfortable scene, and Neville breathed a sigh of relief when Snape took a moment to use the loo. 

They'd been all sitting in relative silence for over an hour, interspersed with Snape's phlegmy throat-clearing, Hermione's tea-sipping, Neville gently cracking Hermione's toes, and requests to please pass the biscuits. 

"Finally," Hermione moaned as she threw down a bundle of papers to the coffee table. "Remind me that term papers are a terrible idea and that I should never assign them again." 

"The trick is to assign them to different classes at different times," Neville said, standing up and stretching. He wasn't exactly pleased with the feeling of his stomach becoming convex again; it jutted out just a bit over his medium-sized trousers, buttery and jiggly in front of him as he moved. He was well on his way to becoming a rememberall of lard... 

"Oh," Hermione answered, and began to laugh a little bit. She rearranged herself on the sofa and moved closer to Neville. "I didn't think of that." 

"No," Neville said, and felt his body tense again as simultaneously, Hermione began to snuggle against his pudgy body, and the door to the loo opened and Snape padded out. 

There was space on the sofa, since Hermione wasn't stretched out upon it like a mermaid anymore, and Snape briefly looked at the spot (perfectly sized for him), but then after a moment of hesitation he returned to the comfortable chair. 

Again, Neville was struck by how pathetic the man was. He clearly wanted to sit on the couch next to their woman, but was too much of a fucking coward to even ask - much less do it. 

"You can go ahead and sit with us," Neville heard himself saying, even though every molecule in his body knew it was a bad idea. "There's room." 

Snape frowned a bit. There was something searching in his eyes, as if he expected a trap. But then, making a decision, he said softly, "If you insist." 

So saying, he grasped his open laptop by the base with one hand, and he crossed the room to sit next to Hermione. Hermione, who was somewhat sitting on her feet, scooted her arse just the closest bit to Neville to ensure there was a comfortable space for Snape's adipose to settle. He collapsed onto the couch with a sigh, slightly landing on Hermione's foot. "Apologies," he said bumblingly, raising himself up just enough to allow her foot exit, "There's a bit more of me than I'm used to." 

"All the better to feast my eyes upon, my dear," Hermione answered with a gentle caress of her voice, and she readjusted until she was able to wrap her arms around the shoulders of both men simultaneously. 

"Be careful," Snape said, and there was a gentle mocking in his voice that Neville found perplexing. "Lest you permit my gluttony to get the best of me." 

"What does it matter?" Hermione asked with a titter. She leaned over and pressed her lips into Neville's cheek, a way of acknowledging that this banter wasn't really inclusive to him. "I like my men gluttonous." 

"Ah, don't let my father hear you say that," Snape said. His voice was soft and just a little bit dangerous. "Just one more reason for my magical arse to be roasted over Satan's spit in hell." 

"Your arse *is* magical," Hermione affirmed, hugging Severus awkwardly. 

"Quiet vixen," Snape said, "Gluttony is one of the major sins. Not counting envy, of course, of which I am most certainly guilty. That, and adultery." 

"So morbid today," Hermione responded, removing her arm from around Snape's shoulders. Her hand extended towards his own, and Neville watched in fascination as she grasped the older, fatter man's hand with such kindness and empathy. 

It made him sick. Snape didn't deserve that goodness. 

"Maybe," Snape answered, and he sounded deeply thoughtful. "It is Christmas. It's hard not to consider the implications of wizards celebrating this holiday. Particularly when one's own history is so mottled." 

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, glancing at Neville. 

Snape just shook his head, catching the glance out of the corner of his eye and settling his gaze upon Neville. "Longbottom has no desire to hear me waffle on about my miserable childhood. His childhood was miserable enough." 

"No, it's fine," Neville said, finding the insincere words had a note of sincerity as he said them. 

"One moment," Hermione said, wiggling out from between the two men. "Need the loo. Don't eat each other," she admonished, shaking a finger mostly in Snape's direction as she trotted away. Her plump behind shook in such a way that Voldemort would have coveted it as a horocrux.

Oh he hated himself so much. Why couldn't he summon the courage to get this vile and disgusting man out of his home?

After Hermione closed the door, Snape rolled his eyes and sharply met Neville's gaze. "No, it's not fine I know very well this isn't a position that's altogether... thrilling for you. Let me spare you the wretched details about my sodding life. It'll only sound like I'm making excuses." 

"I..." Neville was about to argue, but he sighed. *Take yes for an answer, dammit!* "Thanks. I appreciate it." 

This seemed to be the end of the conversation, as Snape turned his head to focus on his computer screen, pushing his glasses up his nose. 

Then, as Neville began to look around for something to do with himself, Snape added, "You're a braver man than I ever have been, Longbottom. Please know that you never deserved my behavior as a teacher."

This revelation was shocking enough. As Neville's lips tried to form around some comprehensible words, the door to the loo opened and Hermione began to head in their direction. 

Then, Severus leaned towards Neville and whispered lowly, in the other man's ear. "And, just so you know: if Hermione ever insisted on being with you exclusively, I would never stand in the way of that." 

Neville felt like a dragon had just flown overhead. He had to re-evaluate *everything* he'd been thinking that entire afternoon. 

Maybe Snape wasn't quite... so... evil? 

 

 

 

 

Music: Wicked Little Town from Hedwig and the Angry Inch


	84. gingerbread & gaming

Hermione watched in perfect comfort as Severus threw cleaning spells hither and thither across the long neglected classroom. He refused to let her work because she'd contracted a stubborn cold that even the wonders of Pepper-Up potion couldn't fix.

It wasn't how most lovers spent Christmas morning, that was for sure. But it seemed like Severus preferred to have something to do today, rather than have a pleasant lie-in. He'd shaken her awake early in the morning, dressed and expectant, with a dress ready for her on his arm and an impatient look on his face. 

"Come," he'd said boldly, his low voice magically soothing, "Let's be up and about." 

"But... hungry..." Hermione had yawned, sitting up with bleary eyes, the bedclothes falling around her like rippling water. 

"I've arranged it already," Severus said with some irritation, as if he took offense at the very idea of her skipping breakfast. "Now get up." 

The urgency of his tone was offset by the gingerbread biscuit and cozy coffee mug that steamed on the nightstand. 

She didn't remember it was Christmas morning until after he ushered her up a set of rickety staircases she'd never seen or tread upon before, settled her down at a table groaning with a fabulous breakfast, and began clearing the dusty tomb of a room with scourgifies.

"I'm guessing that Christmas wasn't exactly the happiest of times for you," Hermione mused aloud, once she'd figured it all out. 

"What? No," Severus said, his expression and voice flat. Hermione almost believed in his indifference until he elaborated, with biting sarcasm. "Why would I find it painful to remember the times when all the other children were at home for the winter hols, and the best I could hope for was a note from my mother telling me everything was fine, when weeks before, she'd beseeched me not to come home for fear my father would kill me? What would it matter to me, to see other children showered with gifts while I didn't even receive the acknowledgement of some underwear like I'd asked for? When have I ever been happier than at Christmastime, when the only Christmases I ever spent happily were at the home of the Evans'?" 

He didn't look at her, taking much greater pleasure in staring out the dingy window, brooding. 

Hermione blew her nose into a handkerchief, feeling weary. 

"I'd love to talk about it," she said with her nose full of snot, "but maybe not this moment? I'm barely functional myself right now." 

This made him turn back to gaze sadly into her eyes. "Of course," he said, his mouth firming into the semblance of a shallow smile. "I don't mean to waffle on. It doesn't matter." 

"No," Hermione said, and sipped her honeyed tea delicately. "It does matter. But I'd prefer to talk about it when we're somewhere more comfortable, dear." 

There was a hardness in his gaze, a sense of disbelieving her. "I really mean that," she said softly, and coughed throatily. "Somewhere a bit less dusty, perhaps?" 

He appeared thoughtful, then ashamed, and murmured an apology. "Forgive me. I just wanted to get a start on making this place more presentable. It is to be our conference center, after all." 

There was a hint of a kinder smile in his round face, and Hermione could see this was some kind of present to her. 

"You're brilliant, you know that?" Hermione said, standing up carefully. 

He was close at hand, his large body looming over her and the breakfast table. He seemed to contemplate which needed his attention most urgently. As she embraced him in his fine cashmere wools, pressing her head into the softness of his heavy breasts, feeling his labored breaths heaving, she felt there could be no place more comfortable to her in the whole world. 

Particularly as one of his arms held her tightly against him, and his other reached to grab a croissant au chocolat. 

......................... 

Many, many hours later, they sat closely together on the sofa, facing the roaring fire and ignoring the windy darkness outside the windows. Severus was in a flannel nightgown that made him look like an immense grey cloud, except he kept it from billowing too much by also wearing an elegant green silk dressing gown. Hermione's attire was a little less warm; a silky cream chemise that hugged the folds and ripples of her fat on all sides. Neither was hungry, though they nibbled at a plate of biscuits, and neither was wearing underpants. You can probably imagine what they'd been getting up to in the meantime. 

They heard a gentle knock on the door, and both were startled. 

"That's probably Neville, back from his grandmother's," Hermione said, rising and heading towards the door. 

"Does he know I'm here?" Severus asked, a low rumbling of disconcertion in his voice. He was nervous. 

"I imagine he does," Hermione said with a wry chuckle, which turned into a bit of a cough, "These are your rooms we're in." 

"Quite," was all Severus answered, then seemed to think better of further conversation. Instead he drove his nose back into his book, shoving an entire gingerbread man awkwardly into his mouth. (The book was one she'd given him after Christmas dinner, relevant to a particular interest he had in the field of the dark arts,and he was already thoroughly engrossed.) 

Their prediction was not wrong; Neville stood, looking chilled and lonely, on the threshold. "May I come in?" he asked, and in his eyes there was something repentant and chagrined, but also somewhat afraid. 

"Of course, my dear," Hermione said and gave him a quick hug. "I'm a bit sniffly or I'd kiss you." She coughed apologetically. 

"That's all right," Neville responded, "Your company is enough." He discarded his boots. They were wet with melted snow, like his greatcoat. Given the labor involved in removing his outdoor gear, it looked like he intended to stay a while. 

Not that Hermione was complaining. She saw that Neville and Severus, while still wary of each other, were trying to put their best feet forward. She couldn't ask for greater efforts from the metamours. 

She mused privately over just how strong the power of love could be - enough for two lifelong enemies to put aside their grievances on her behalf. It was at once a powerful, intoxicating feeling, and one that left her feeling sick to her stomach. 

But since she didn't want to be sick to her stomach - she was far overfull and in danger of spilling her guts if she sneezed the wrong way - she did her best to ignore the meta implications of this meeting. Instead, she settled down upon the sofa again. Helpfully, Severus busied himself with the kettle and offered Neville a cuppa, which Neville accepted. They were being exceptionally civil to each other, which made Hermione feel wonderfully proud. 

"You're looking much better than the beginning of term, Longbottom," Severus said with honeyed appreciation. "How's your health?" 

"Improved," Neville said, a small effort of a smile on his lips. Hermione was stuffed cozily between the two men on the sofa, and she wiggled her hips in delight. "Since Hermione started taking an interest in me, I've managed to put some meat back on my bones. A bit too much, my grandmum says." He rolled his eyes, but ended by catching Hermione's gaze. There was something pained behind his words, but Hermione couldn't precisely divine what. 

"Ah," Severus said, and nodded. Then, as hesitantly, he offered, "Best be careful with this one, or she'll have you softer than a plum pudding come next Christmas." 

The laugh that resulted was forced, since this wasn't really much of a joke, but it did seem to ease a bit of the tension in the room. Perhaps just stating the obvious was helpful towards that end. 

Severus, for his part, extricated himself from the tight squeeze on the couch and collapsed comfortably into his preferred armchair, summoning an ottoman for his slippered feet. 

Hermione admired him. He looked magnificent there, his stomach protruding upwards in a great massive boulder of stuffed flesh, framed by heavy rolls of squishy goodness that stretched across his abdomen. His dressing-gown - oh, on second glance, it was the one that Slughorn had sent home upon Hermione a few days prior - was tied around him, and it luxuriously rippled around him with extra yards of fabric to grow into. 

They had weighed themselves that day, and Hermione found herself at a plump 235 pounds, which was a good deal short of the goal they'd set for her. But to some extent, they had both known she wouldn't really get to the 324 number. All in good time, Severus had said, and kissed her sweetly, easing the minor disappointment. She'd put on nearly four stone; that was quite a lot for such a short span of months. 

Severus' own weight had climbed to 351, stretching his frame by twenty five pounds since early October. Upon discovering this, he'd glared at Hermione fiercely, as if he blamed her entirely for his own gluttony. Hermione began to worry about the implications of these feelings until he started laughing. 

"What have I done to deserve a woman who is not repulsed by me for a casual extra stone or two?" he'd asked, sounding hysterical. "I know I could find a wife as a former Death Eater, but a *fat* former Death Eater?" 

He ostensibly had been merry and grateful about this fact, but there was something dark in his emotion. It had been palpable, and worrisome. Worrisome enough that Hermione had not even noticed the slip of the tongue he'd made in calling her 'a wife,' not until he'd disappeared into the loo. 

He'd been in there for a suspiciously long time. But when he had emerged, he was composed and seemed loathe to discuss it any further, so that's all they'd said about the matter. 

Now, long after, he seemed to have regained his good spirits. He smiled thinly, but benevolently at Neville and Hermione. It was a way of giving his blessing for them to cuddle together. He ceded the couch in a strategic move to win her heart all the more fully. And she could plainly see the gambit for what it was. 

"So it sounds like it didn't go all that well with her," Hermione said, returning to the subject of Neville's grandmum. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, well, I wouldn't say that," Neville said with a small smile. "She pestered me about Luna, but it all ran off me like water on a turbidroot. She doesn't really believe me that it's over; she harped on how unsuitable she is all while I tried to tell her it was over, with Luna and me." 

He sighed. "Luna said she'd be coming home before Christmas," he added, melancholy. "But that hasn't happened, I guess." 

It seemed, from Hermione's point of view, to be yet another disappointment in a long history of disappointments from Luna. Better to get her boyfriend's mind off the matter, straightaway. 

"Well, you know Luna," Hermione laughed gently. "Miss Reliable, as they always call her." 

Severus snorted from behind his book, suggesting it wasn't occupying his attention that well. 

"I did get us a treat, though," Neville added, and hesitantly disentangled himself from Hermione. It was as if he didn't trust she'd still be there, waiting for him, when he got back. "I hope you both like it." 

Hermione and Severus both perked up at that. A gift, for both of them? Really? Tides really were changing, if Longbottom intended to include Snape in a Christmas gift. 

The package was professionally wrapped with paper and sparkling rhinestones. This was distinctly unlike how Severus and Hermione had presented practical unwrapped gifts to each other, with an air of nonchalance. Hermione was straightforward and unwrapped this package without any kind of ceremony. She checked with a glance to Neville to see if this was what he expected, but his face remained carefully neutral. 

The present was further enclosed in a hand-finished wooden box. Gorgeously engraved on the golden latch was a note: "From Neville, with love." 

Oh, all right. Perhaps he was just being generous by saying that the present was for the two of them; there was only one of the couple that Neville could love, with any reasonable belief. 

"This is beautiful," Hermione gushed, running her hand along the silky-smooth surface of the box. "Did you make this?" 

"Rather," Neville said, clearly blushing. "Open it." 

Hermione did so. Inside was a beautiful arrangement of game pieces for a game Hermione never had seen. There were four main characters to play, one colored for every Hogwarts house: red, blue, yellow, and green. And there was a game board, and enclosed in velvet bags, there were dozens of little wooden discs, triangles, and assorted other items. 

"Did you make this too?" Hermione asked, lifting up one of the daintily scrolled tiny houses. 

"No," Neville said, a little nervously, as if he'd disappointed her by not doing so. "I'm not quite that skilled at woodworking." 

"Never mind," Hermione said, and opened the velvet bags experimentally. The scent of fresh wood was a perfume that made her smile sadly. "This is so lovely. Thank you. You'll have to teach us how to play it." 

"Straight away," Neville said, "I only just recently learned." 

Hermione cast a glance back to Severus, and was surprised to catch the man glowering at the back of Neville's head. 

"How about you set it up," Hermione said, "And Sev, would you help me with... that thing?" 

"What?" asked Severus, startled out of his brooding. But then as he caught her concerned glance, he mutely got up and followed Hermione into the kitchen. 

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked once out of earshot of Neville. She felt tired, and wished that Severus could just go easy on Neville, for once. 

"Nothing rational," Severus bit out. His eyes were unable to meet hers, and she grasped for his hand. It was limp, and shaking just the slightest bit. 

"Well, go ahead and tell me," Hermione answered, uninterested in beating around the bush. 

"It doesn't matter," he tried to argue, moving as if to break away from her, but she held firm. 

"Don't wank me around," Hermione argued, holding onto his wrist. "You don't have to tell me everything, but at least be honest with me. Don't I deserve that much?" 

He groaned, and closed his eyes. "You deserve the world, Hermione," he murmured, his voice sinking low. "I wish I could give it to you." 

"How about we just start with honesty," Hermione said, feeling her anger ebb. "Your feelings aren't *nothing,* Severus, even if you believe they aren't. I myself consider them exceedingly important." 

"Very well," he said, sounding chastized. His eyes were unable to meet hers. His breath caught, and he leaned towards her. He then whispered, "I'm jealous." 

"Of...?" She wasn't going to let him get off easy. 

"Longbottom." 

Of course. 

"Why," Hermione said, doing her best not to roll her eyes. "Of the gift he brought me?" 

"Yes," hissed Severus, and she saw his hand grasp firmly upon the doorjamb. 

"And why is that?" Hermione asked, patient but unbendingly firm. 

"Because," Severus said, and gulped. "All I got you was some damned potions ingredients. I didn't make you anything with my own two hands." 

"Some damned potions ingredients that are rare and expensive as hell, Severus. And precisely what I needed for the reifying potion I'm writing about for the conference." She sighed. "Neville may have made something, but you *intuited* something. And that certainly counts for something." 

Severus took a long, steadying, deep breath. "I feel like you're just saying that," he said, almost with a whimper. "But I accept what you're saying at face value." 

"That's right," cooed Hermione, and embraced her man warmly. "Keep your mind from going to those dark places. And let's go see you trounce us both in this new game. I have little doubt that you'll soundly beat both our arses. That will cheer you up." 

"Beat Longbottom? Definitely," replied Severus, a soft smile emerging on his lips. It wasn't completely sincere, but Hermione appreciated the effort. "Beating you will be fully most of the game." 

So saying, he led her back out into the living room, and they all settled down to play the new board game, sip tea, and eat gingerbread biscuits. 

It was, after that, a strangely happy affair, with a good deal of laughter, strategy, and amusement. Whatever had inspired Neville to take this particular route for gift was nearly preternatural, for when the evening ended, the trio was so content that they went to bed together - Hermione squeezed in the middle between the two men. 

And, indeed, there was a spirit of calm that she relished long into the night, once their gentle snores began to dance against her ears. Perhaps it just was the Yuletide spirit, but she began to feel like maybe, perhaps, this polyamory thing just might work.


	85. new year's and neville brooding

Severus and Hermione were, once again, standing in the corner watching dancers. Unlike usual, however, they were accompanied by Neville, who thoughtfully sipped a fizzy drink. It was New Year's Eve, and the curmudgeonly couple had been persuaded to join the rest of the school. Otherwise, apparently, they risked a thorough boxing of the ears from McGonagall, and neither was particularly keen on that. 

Neville was at least a regular participant, even if he was just as awkward as they were. Hermione did her best to keep him feeling included in their coterie of two, even when he felt more like a hindrance than a help. But at least if two was company, three was a crowd, and Severus' lusty pinches and kisses were well hidden from the students by Neville's willful obliviousness. 

"Shall we go and cause a scene?" Hermione asked, plucking Severus' hand away from the pastries at the table. "Don't try and pretend you don't like dancing, my dear. Not after Irma's party." 

Severus rolled his eyes, but there was the slightest edge of good humor that covered the sharp blade of his surliness. "Whatever you wish," he conceded. "But just a moment. Let the terrible little things get their first few glasses of punch out of their systems so they don't come caterwauling over our feet." 

He resumed his attempt to get a sweet biscuit between his lips. Hermione left him unfettered this time. Poor man would need some calories to get them through the next foxtrot. 

"There was a party?" Neville asked, his eyes immediately saddening. "Here?" 

*And I wasn't invited?* was the other implication, and it lay very shallowly below the surface. Hermione immediately felt guilty about Severus' overt gestures of affection, and resolved herself to be a little publicly better to Neville. 

"No," Hermione said, and then before she could dig herself any deeper, she found herself saved by two strong arms sending her into an elegant, practiced twirl. 

"You're a horrible liar," Severus said. His voice was a little rough after an uncomfortable, dry swallow of biscuit too swiftly consumed. "Don't make me do that again. Not to mention," he added, his lips moving closer to her ear, "that whole event never happened, if you recall. It was only a dream." 

"What," Hermione asked, feeling her heart flutter as his lips cherished her earlobe with his soft, almond breath. "Like this is a dream?" 

"I certainly hope not," he said, pulling back and smiling grimly. "I have too many wicked plans to enact tonight." 

Then, with a graceful step, he pulled in close to her again, his hand silky and strong on the mid of her back. Had she been taller, his stomach would have gotten in the way of their embrace, but as it happened, it fit perfectly between the concave space between her breasts and own stomach. She leaned into him, relishing the softness of it. 

"It would be a pity if they were to be left... undone." 

This last word was kissed into her ear in a breathtaking strike of motion, and Hermione shivered with the suddenness. "You're terrible," she said, giggling in a most unladylike fashion. She glanced around hurriedly to see if any of the students around them could see, and she noticed with horror one or two of them staring. 

She tore her eyes away, and tried to pretend she didn't feel like a foolish seventh year herself, in Severus Snape's arms. 

As they rounded the room to where they started, Hermione saw there was a terrible pathos in Neville's eyes. 

She felt herself detaching from Severus, feeling almost ashamed. Had she really been so callous to Neville, or was he being over-sensitive? She didn't know. 

The music still swirled onwards, though, and she didn't really know what to do. It would be unseemly to break away from Severus - certainly she knew *he* was just as liable to be over-sensitive, if not more so. 

The song finally ended as they were fully across the room from Neville, and she and Severus broke away from each other to applaud the orchestra. 

"Go on," she heard Severus whisper serenely in her ear, "Pay him more attention tonight. I'm feeling quite well enough." 

It was almost as if he'd read her thoughts, and she glanced up to him with gratitude. In response, he pressed a tender kiss upon her lips, one that lingered with promise. 

"Are you going to be all right?" she asked, feeling her throat tighten. 

"I will, never fear," he said, and there was a sincerity behind his eyes. "Truly. I am well tonight." 

This was a strange turn of events, for sure! Hermione couldn't rightly remember a time when Severus Snape professed to be well. Even for such a short, temporal time as 'tonight.' 

But to see him, it was unmistakeable. There was something in his shoulders, the way they pressed back - they weren't forced back, as they usually were in public. His appearance was striking, of course, as it always was. But he was wearing something a little different than usual - a new set of clothes that fit his bulky frame loosely. Well, at least the satin green tunic, which flowed with pleated chiffon in watery colors. It was tied around his sauntering hips with a silk crimson pashmina from Hermione's closet, providing a festive touch that didn't look too garish, or too intentional. His camel-colored trousers were quite tight along his thighs, buttocks, and calves, in a comely fashion, while also being generous to his overfull waist. Also, the fabric was quite soft to the touch, if she didn't mind saying so. The waistcoat he wore was unbuttoned, purely for show; it wouldn't so much as come together unless he lost a full stone. His boots were old, but their soft pebble skin was well polished, and his gloves were of the same material. His hair was a little longer than usual, tied back with a red ribbon that matched the belt.

Ah, she began to realize what was so different about him. He seemed to have loosened up a bit, in almost every sense. He wasn't pretending to be the svelte man he'd used to be, able to shimmy into a tight vicarlike outfit with nearly a hundred buttons. He was becoming more comfortable with himself. Allowing for his body to just... exist, as it were. 

It was very alluring, in a way she wasn't familiar with seeing from him. 

She was startled to notice, as well, that he wasn't wearing a collar to hide his neck. He'd applied some glamor charms, sure, but there was a distinct shadow where the bite of Nagini had scarred him on his throat. 

And there were other scars there besides, Hermione knew. Scars that, without significant cosmetic charms, would have prevented him from wearing the low v-neck tunic. Scars that had been there since he was a boy, most notably a scar from a cut from his father's broken ale bottle. He'd told her about it one tearful night, not too long ago. 

But to see him now, out there, his face so calm and placid, his eyes alight and predatory as he swept in a low, elegant bow before Poppy Pomfrey, asking the healer to dance... he looked practically like a different person. 

Well, it was a long time coming. Heaven knew he felt like a different person, what with Dumbledore's vortex lifted from Hogwarts, and his soul. 

Heaven knew, she wouldn't be in love with him if he weren't a different person. 

He really looked beautiful. It wasn't a in a gothic way, as she was used to seeing him. Instead, he seemed to have some joy about his person, in a way that seemed to emanate from his very essence. 

Hermione admired him as he whirled Poppy into a gentle waltz, which was completely out of time to the music but was so confident that everyone around them seemed to question their own movements. And as he spun the stout older woman, Hermione caught his glance. 

There was something firey in the way he smiled at her. Something at once passionate, but also subdued. A sense of desire that could wait, that knew how to bide its time, and that would be there for her when she was willing to call upon it. 

It made her feel incredibly wonderful, and to see him in such a state, she very nearly raced across the ballroom and stole him from Poppy Pomfrey's arms. 

But if he could wait - him, the irascible, impulsive, desperate man who had waited seemingly a thousand years for this happiness - well, Hermione could wait a scarce few hours. 

And instead, she made an attempt to seriously consider Neville. 

The other man was paying no attention to her, sucking on his fizzy drink with a sense of dullness. As Hermione made her way towards him, she saw him turn his gaze towards the entryway of the Great Hall. 

And what he saw there seemed to shake his world. 

................... 

Neville fumblingly put his glass upon the serving table, very nearly toppling it upon the floor, but he stabilized it just in time before bolting. 

In the doorway to the Great Hall, if he wasn't mistaken, was Luna Lovegood, in garb as gauzy and delicate as a fairy fey. 

It didn't require much more motivation to race across the dance floor to greet her. 

Neville had been undergoing such a sense of chaos all evening. He hadn't quite gotten over Luna's failed promise to be home by Christmas, though he'd been doing his best to prove himself grateful for what few scraps of affection he managed to acquire from Hermione. 

But no matter what he did, he knew he'd never quite capture Hermione's attention like Severus Fucking Snape. 

What did a bloke have to do to fucking get a woman to respect him? Neville felt truly and utterly despondent. He had never treated someone with the malice and abuse that Snape had heaped upon defenseless schoolchildren. He had been, theoretically speaking, a hero, though Neville now had a great deal of imposter syndrome surrounding what he'd done with Nagini. 

But when Neville didn't suffer from imposter syndrome, he remembered too acutely: he'd actually fucking KILLED Nagini the first chance he'd got. While Snape had fucking laid down and let the beast poison him, rather than attempt to execute the creature with his last breaths. (Though of course, there were so many complicating and mitigating factors with this line of reasoning... but Neville wasn't quite principled enough to parse them out.) In short, Neville felt like he'd done in one swipe what Snape had neglected to do in years. 

Life wasn't that complicated. When there was a dastardly snake to be killed, best kill it straightaway. Letting it poison you to death - or near death - was about as stupid as Neville could conceive. 

And that was the problem with Hermione, Neville mused to himself as he watched Severus and Hermione dance. Hermione was a sucker for complication. She seemed to enjoy teasing apart complicated situations just as much as Neville enjoyed avoiding them. 

Well, better her than him. Severus Snape was certainly too complicated to understand, and if Hermione thought she understood the man, she was more a fool than Neville ever could be. 

Yes, Severus Snape brought up such significant rage in Neville's body, itself seemed to poison Neville. Sometimes, with Hermione, he tried to pass it off as fear. She seemed to believe it, since she seemed unable to do much else other than pity Neville. 

But she was wrong to do so. It blinded her to seeing the fury that boiled below Neville's surface. It was not just that she should prefer a man who had abused him so much. That was only part of the problem. 

It was fury that he'd done everything so right, so carefully, scrupulously right... and he had basically nothing to show for it. Sure, he had a job, but he was certain it was more out of charity than any other reason. He was too bumbling to merit any rewards in his life, unlike Harry Potter, or Ron Weasley, or Hermione Granger, or even Luna Lovegood... 

Oh, well, that was the problem. He was simultaneously so self-hating, and so assured of his entitlement to better. At some level, he understood this discrepancy, but the knowledge didn't really sink in. If he did register it consciously, it manifested as yet another reason he was a pathetic mess. 

Luna was one of the very few people he felt like he actually, to a limited extent, owned the heart of. He knew he was deluding himself if he believed Hermione loved him. How could she love him, when she loved a man like Severus Snape? 

Severus FUCKING Snape? 

And so the loss of Luna had been one of the most striking blows he'd ever experienced, romantically or otherwise. Even if he'd executed it out of his own mess of desire to keep his disease outside of her radar. 

He hated himself for having sacrificed his truth to save her. 

She wasn't worth it. Or, more accurately: she wasn't worth the effort of sacrificing himself. Maybe she needed a wake-up call to bring her to reality.

Then again, all these thoughts were completely blown away as he saw her enter the Great Hall. As he began to see her there, he felt his heart skip several beats, and then he raced towards her. 

He'd sort out his feelings later. Now, what he needed to do was feel her in his arms, and speak his truth. And never let her go again. 

.......................

Hermione saw Neville break away, and she turned to see what had seized his attention. 

There was, in the doorway of the Great Hall, a very angular looking young man. Or was it? She wasn't precisely sure. The person's garb seemed distinctly feminine, but there was no mistaking the broad trapezoids and narrow hips of a masculine person. 

It was a very pretty outfit, to be sure. All pastel, glassy blues and whites. A truly gorgeous long braid of silken, ice-blonde hair hung down their front. Their cheeks were well-rouged, to combat the washed-out appearance of their coloring, and these brought out the color of their bright red fruitlike earrings. They looked oddly familiar... 

Oh. Were those dirigible plums? 

She rather thought they were. 

And then her eyes went wide as she began to put two and two together. 

It was Luna Lovegood. There was no mistaking the way that Neville threw himself at her feet and clasped her fervently. 

Well, this was a strange turn of events. 

This was almost sufficient distraction from the pang of utter loneliness that was beginning to steep through her body, like tea in cold water. 

 

 

 

 

Music: La Dolce Vita main theme, and The Godfather Soundtrack (esp. the waltzes)


	86. melodrama with neville and luna

Almost like a deja-vu, Hermione, Neville, and Severus were sitting in Severus' rooms, playing a board game. It was late January, about a month since the New Year's party in the Great Hall. 

It was a Saturday night, and there was a roaring fire, warm cinnamon mugs of cider, and many buttery tea biscuits. Dinner had been an hour ago, and the trio was comfortable and cozy, sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounding a large low coffee table. 

"Fetch," said Severus tersely, tossing a loop at Neville's short house-shaped pawn. 

"Flight," countered Neville, raising a small notecard decorated in fabric spirals and waving it at Severus' loop. The loop promptly disappeared, replaced by a small lop-eared rabbit. 

"And, Fright," announced Hermione, providing the rabbit with a tiny tree, approximately the size of a floret of broccoli, but with its root system gathered neatly underneath it, it was distinctly more tree-like than broccoli-like. The rabbit sniffed at it, then hopped away disdainfully. Hermione was flooded with confusion, which clouded her face perceptibly. 

Then, Severus grinned in a very victorious way, and revealed a card he'd been keeping under his corner of the board the whole game. "Fin." 

Hermione collapsed back with crossed arms, and an even crosser expression. "Wanker," she complained, "that's so shady." 

"Slytherin," corrected Severus with a cackling laugh. "That's so Slytherin." 

And then they heard a *thump.* 

They looked abruptly at Neville, whose face suddenly had landed flat on the table, scattering game pieces every which way. 

"Love?" Hermione asked, her face paling instantly. Her hand shook Neville's shoulder, and the man was floppy to the touch. His eyes were closed and his muscles were limp. She pulled him back, and he slipped awkwardly through her arms into her lap. She swatted at his cheek to no avail, and looked helplessly to Severus, who seemed just as surprised as her. 

"Has this ever happened before?" Snape asked, leaning forward to take the other man's pulse, and Hermione shook her head in the negative. In almost the same breath, given the quickness and precision of their communication, he added, "Let me summon Pomfrey." 

He grasped at the corner of the table, heaving himself up, and accio'ing his wand. It wasn't particularly graceful, but he did it all in a single clumsy swoop, which was almost wondrous to see. 

Then, with a whipping motion, he cast a patronus. The plump, scruffy terrier that came out of his wand scurried away with an eagerness that might have been comic under different circumstances. But as it was, the urgency was appreciated as it disappeared in a puff of vapor. 

It was then that he seemed to realize he'd done something surprising. He realized it in the same moment that Hermione did, and his face furrowed. Her face was shaped in a soft 'o,' until just the slightest smile formed upon it.

"It's back," she observed, "and it's different." 

"So it would seem," Severus answered, and his face remained puzzled. It wasn't the right time to parse out what his new animal meant, however, so he bent back down and helped Hermione lay Neville upon the soft carpet. 

"Careful of his neck," Severus said, assisting with gentle and firm hands. "Now, when's the last time you practiced chest compressions?" 

Given Hermione didn't have a ready answer to this, Severus waved her away, and did a quick rub of his knuckles across Neville's sternum. When this failed to rouse the man, Severus pressed his knuckles firmly into Neville's breast, and began to execute quick, precise motions. 

"One, two three, four..." he counted, devoting all his focus on his efforts. Once he got to thirty, he stopped, caught his own breath, and then resumed. The compressions were deep in Neville's chest, at least two inches of pressure, and Hermione was almost worried that something was going to break - a rib, or something. 

"What can I do?" she asked, feeling frantic. This was one of those situations where she felt her book learning wholly inadequate, and while her brain swam with instructions, Severus seemed to have the matter well in hand. 

"Call his..." Severus said with a gasp, but then as he said the words, he reconsidered. "Luna," he breathed. 

Hermione wasted no time in sending her own otter out into the ether. 

..............  
Neville's New Years' reunion with Luna hadn't gone nearly as he'd have liked. And, if Hermione was perfectly honest, it was entirely his fault. 

She remembered how Neville, beaming with tense pride, walked around the hall with Luna on his arm, their heads bowed together in an intimate tete-a-tete. Hermione intended to steer clear of them both, and began to look around for a comfortable chair. 

But as Neville came towards her, guiding his wayward lover through the crowd, it became clear he wasn't interested in some private time. 

"Look who's back," he said. There was a tenseness beneath his words, as if he had some unfinished business with Luna that he resented ignoring. "Better late than never, eh?" 

"I meant Lunar Christmas, of course," Luna said serenely, "So, I believe that makes me perfectly right on time. It's not my fault you didn't get an updated moon calendar for the year."

"I thought you never wanted to see me again in the first place," Neville said. There was a deep bitterness in his tone, a raw nerve that Hermione could see exposed. "So you simply must understand that most people don't think that way, dearheart." 

"Never mind that," Luna responded, and pressed her lips into Neville's cheek, leaving a shiny lipstick mark. Then, as he turned to make eye contact with her, she growled in a feral way, and applied her teeth to his neck. 

"Oh," he gasped, in a way that Hermione recognized from the bedroom. "Oh." 

*Interesting,* Hermione observed, thinking what she might have to explore with him later. *If we ever have a later, now that Luna's actually back.* 

As a result of this thought, there was a sadness in her voice that she couldn't keep from bleeding out. "It's lovely to see you," she said, offering Luna a friendly embrace. Luna responded in kind, unruffled as usual, and her arm's grip was strong. 

"Careful, now," came a voice from behind Hermione, and they turned to see Poppy Pomfrey toddling towards them. "Wouldn't want to hurt the poor potions professor, would you?" 

"Oh, you," Luna exclaimed, and without hesitation she threw her arms around the healer. 

"Dearheart," Poppy mused, resigned to the strength of Luna's fervent grasp. "Oh, I've missed you so. I'm so happy to see you." 

They held each other in the most affectionate and platonic of embraces, and Hermione saw the warmth of maternal care in Pomfrey's eyes.

That care became concern, as Poppy let go of Luna and scanned the girl up and down. "Looks like you could use a refill of your potions, though." 

Ah. It took Hermione just a second to realize what kinds of potions Poppy was alluding to. 

Her intuition was further confirmed with what happened next. 

"Maybe," Luna said, and then, with a little smile, added, "Unless Neville prefers me this way." 

Neville's brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, looking Luna up and down. "You look divine, as always." 

"Really?" Luna asked, and she took Neville's hand and raised it to touch her cheek, which was a little stubbly with a recent shave. "The same as always?" 

She didn't need to put it into words, and indeed, to do so might have seemed brash. Luna was a mystery of riddles and metaphors, and directness wasn't her way; she much preferred to design starry castles of dreams and whispers, and only used blatancy when it was to her advantage. In this way she'd learned the lesson from Dumbledore: always lead your opponents to underestimate you. 

But Neville wasn't picking up on her meaning. 

Neville's face was blank. Hermione wasn't sure if it was willful stupidity or not, but Neville seemed incapable of reading between the lines. "Yes," he said, confusion beginning to show in his eyes. He knew there was something he wasn't getting, but he wasn't sure what, and it bothered him that he should look the fool. 

"I think perhaps you both ought to have a talk in the gardens," Hermione said, offering her hand to Poppy. "Let's leave them to it, Poppy?" 

"Certainly, my dear," said the healer comfortably. The two of them proceeded towards the comfortable chairs and snack table, where they situated themselves with complete satisfaction, together. 

And they watched as Neville followed Luna to the snowfilled garden terrace, Luna holding his hand and leading him gently while Neville stumbled against the gravity of his own ignorance. 

And they watched as Luna gestured with her hands, pointing at the moon that glinted callously down upon the lovers, and explained in her roundabout way some facts that, it seemed, had been left undiscussed for too long. Probably with some embellishments of her standard repertoire: unusual beasts and where to find them.

And as they watched, Neville's carefully-constructed defenses began to break down. First, his face was stoic, neutral. Then, as realization began to seep into his thick noggin, that stoicism became stony and cold. Finally, his face began to turn red, and it wasn't from the cold. His arms, crossed over his soft chest like armor, began to knot even tighter. 

And as they watched, Neville exploded. They weren't alone in observing this. Nearly all the school stopped and stared as, outside the glass, the herbology professor rampaged. 

"So *that's* why you never bloody fucked me," Neville screamed, "You have a dick. You have a dick. You have a dick. How could you do such a thing to a bloke? How *could* you hide that from me? And then when I break up with you, you have the gall to pretend we haven't because you didn't *believe* me? Christ, are you that fucking deluded?" 

Hermione had never seen Luna Lovegood cry, and in this moment, Luna Lovegood still didn't cry. Instead, she stared at Neville, her eyes wide and glassy, one finger fidgeting around with her earring. 

And her lack of response seemed to aggravate Neville even more. Then again, this row had been long coming. It was bound to be stupendous. 

Hermione, on her part, felt her face color. She knew he'd be humiliated tomorrow for this, but she also knew she didn't have the power - or privilege - to get Neville back to reason. 

There was a stern clap in the direction of the orchestra, which hastily resumed playing music. The students and faculty haltingly began to ease back into the music. Then, once attention was successfully diverted, Minerva McGonagall had the presence of mind to sweep out of the Great Hall onto the terrace herself. 

Hermione sighed with relief as she observed McGonagall send Luna inside with a commanding wave of her hand, and also observed Neville's face pale with self-consciousness and shame. McGonagall didn't need to scream - Neville was more than apologetic. At least, to her. 

He didn't look at Luna, who stood inside with her face pressed against the glass window. She looked forlorn and pitiful. 

In a swooping motion, Poppy got up and approached the young woman, and she embraced the vulnerable, delicate girl. 

"I'm so sorry," Poppy said, hugging Luna tightly. That's all Hermione heard. She didn't want to see anymore. 

A gentle touch on her shoulder made her start, and she turned her head to see Severus looming over her. 

"That's a fiasco," he observed, staring at the carnage of Neville and Luna's relationship. "What does this mean for you and..." 

He tilted his head towards Neville, leaving the name unspoken. 

Hermione shook her own head, sadly. "I don't know. I'm pretty displeased with how it turned out, myself. Leaves a bitter taste in my mouth." 

"As is reasonable," Severus affirmed, "But be gentle on the young idiot, will you?" 

Hermione cast a sly glance at her partner. "You seem in a truly good mood." 

"Why shouldn't I be?" Severus asked, a grin rising on his face. "I've got two dates this week. And I'm liable to make it three, if I'm lucky," 

"Oh my," Hermione said, feeling a stab of jealousy. But she knew it wasn't a competition. "Who are the lucky recipients of your... attentions, such as they are?" 

"No one outside the range of the usual suspects," Severus said, pressing his lips close to Hermione's ear. "Hmm. I see Poppy tomorrow while you're at class. Horace is looking forward to my company on Wednesday evening, if you do not object. And I'm hoping to spend some time with Irma, if all goes well. But she is a flighty one, so I can't depend on her interest." 

"I rather think you can," Hermione answered, "She seemed quite smitten by you, when we last saw her." 

"By both of you, I'm sure," came a voice, and Poppy approached from behind them. "As am I." 

"We aren't a package deal," drawled Severus, reaching towards the healer and pressing a kiss on the woman's cheek. "If you'll be wanting both of us, you'll have to court both of us on our own merits and time." 

"My, my," the woman said with a smile. "Where on earth do you imagine I get the time?" 

Then, returning Severus' friendly kiss, she leaned forward to whisper to Hermione. "I'm afraid I'm feeling a bit run down, so I'll be taking my leave of you for the night." 

Severus yawned quite dramatically, but soundlessly. Then, gently, he patted Hermione's soft shoulders. "I'm inclined to do the same. Shall we go up together?" 

"No," Hermione said, looking around for Neville. She didn't see him in the crowd, but she wanted to see him. She couldn't sit and wait without knowing what was going on in his pretty little head, and she was concerned about the boy. "I'll be up a bit longer." 

"Suit yourself," Severus said, and pressed a tender, lingering kiss on Hermione's cheek. He seemed just the slightest bit tipsy, though with so many years of iron-rod control of his expressions, it was scarcely noticeable. He just seemed a little too close to being publicly jovial, and he was also a little sloppy on his feet. "I'll be in my flat tonight. Got to read the Cavendar papers before bed. Join me if you like." 

"We shall see," Hermione answered, and responded to his kiss tenderly. 

"I know it's rough," he added, giving Hermione a kindly embrace with one arm. "You're a better soul than I am." 

"Situations are different," Hermione observed. She watched as Severus swaggered away, his tight trousers displaying the goodness of his buttocks so elegantly. And Hermione smiled as Poppy took Severus' hand, and followed him upstairs. 

Hermione decided she'd sleep in her own bed tonight, provided she wasn't in Neville's. 

.............. 

After an hour of searching found him at her door, and he seemed cold and lonely. 

"I'm so sorry," Hermione said, opening the door and admitting them both into her space. "That looked really bad." 

"I guess so," Neville said, looking humiliated. He collapsed onto the sofa, face-first, and groaned into the cushions. 

"We don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to," Hermione said, and she cast some charms at the kitchen to set some tea to boil. 

"Ok," Neville agreed, not moving from his position. 

He didn't cry, he didn't make any noise for several minutes. Hermione busied herself with making tea, setting it at his hand, and tidying up her bedroom. 

"Come to bed with me," she said, emerging in a nightgown to try and encourage him to come have a proper sleep. It was a cozy frilled enormity, with a high Victorian collar, that Severus had thought was a good gift for her. And, while the lace trim and flowiness of the garment wasn't particularly her style, she appreciated its warmth and comfort. It wasn't intended to seduce Neville to sex, but to seduce him to sleep. 

"Ok," Neville said, and only then did he get up slowly and wearily. 

He sluggishly shuffled into the bedroom, removed his clothes, and threw them upon a chair, while Hermione fluffed the comforter and pillows. A fire roared in the fireplace. 

"What's happening with us?" he asked, as he settled into bed, his eyes heavily closed even though his head had barely touched the pillow. "Are we still an item?" 

"If you want that," Hermione said. "I think it depends on whether you think you and Luna are still an item." 

He paused, considering his next words, and then he buried his face in Hermione's hair. 

"She and I haven't been an item since she left for Sweden." 

Thus saying, he wrapped his arms around her plump, luscious middle, and she pressed herself against him as much as she could. 

Things were hard for him, right now. That was for sure.

.................. 

The next month was a whirlpool of pain, for Neville. He seemed to take the revelation he'd had from Luna unnecessarily hard, and it embittered him. But the bitterness seemed to make him cleave all the more tightly to Hermione. 

Once in a while, he murmured something about "this is as good as I'm going to get, in this world, so I better bloody accept it," and it was moments like these that revealed the depth of his unhappiness. 

Still, Hermione didn't really know what to do. She supposed that time would heal a good portion of the raw sting of pain, and that in the meantime, keeping Neville safe from himself was as good a strategy as any other. 

For her own part, Hermione didn't hear a peep from Luna. This wasn't particularly surprising, given the woman seemed to flit betwen spheres as easily as a bumblebee collecting pollen from various different flowers. 

But there was a silence in terms of Neville's discussion of Luna. And that was eerie. 

..............  
Later, back to the scene in late January, it was a mere few seconds after she was called that Poppy Pomfrey apparated onto the scene. 

"Thank goodness for you removing the anti-apparation wards," Poppy said with a huff as she got down on her knees, assorted tools clinking around her belt. "Sixth time this year it's been helpful." 

"Figuring it all out was Minerva," said Severus apologetically, "I just thought of where to look." 

"Nonsense," Poppy said, and she tapped Severus' shoulder and he moved over to let her do compressions in his stead. 

He looked sweaty and concerned, but rolled back into a squat, stretching his maligned fingers in preparation to sub in again as needed. 

But Poppy had it quite under control; she had a spell for that, apparently, so she devoted her whole attention to Neville. 

"Boy," she said sternly, in a voice that commanded attention. "Wake up." 

When Neville made no response, the woman firmly and clinically placed her lips upon Neville's mouth, pinched his nose, and exhaled deeply, watching for his chest to rise and fall. 

"We've got a pulse," she said, analyzing diagrams in the air that apparently only she could see. "But it's weak. Come on." 

Thus saying, she whipped out a hospital blanket from a pouch, tapped it a few times, and it whisked itself beneath Neville with nary a bump. It lifted him gently and evenly, and she tucked it closed at one end so she could tug it. Then, offering her arm to Severus and her hand to Hermione, with a fierce crack, she brought them all back to the hospital ward. 

................


	87. neville in hospital ward

Hey buddies, sorry for the long-ass wait for a new chapter. All I can say is… life stuff?

Anyway. If you like my writing then maybe you could do me a favor and support me and my work on Patreon? You can find me under the name MollyWeisser. Web address: patreon.com/mollyweisser

Thanks all! This chapter probably hasn’t been worth the wait but I kinda got stuck here, so hopefully this is a breaking point that can help me move forward w/the story.

…………………….

Neville awoke in the hospital ward, and opened his eyes blearily. He felt he had been hit by a hypogriff at full speed, and initially he was confused and mildly concerned.

With a hazy recollection, he wondered who had been hurt. And then he realized that the person who had been hurt was him, and he felt his entire body sag with the weight of remembering.

There were two people on either side of him, and each held one of his hands, which he felt were trembling. One of the hands was study and unmoving, as stable as a rock, and the other was fidgety, constantly moving in little circles a lot.

He tried to see who was with him, on either side, but lifting and turning his head required too much effort. Instead, he moved both hands gently, merely a finger each, and then waited for voices. 

He wasn't sure what he expected, but he didn't expect the merry and lovely voice of Luna - the Luna he remembered, not the Luna he had returned who had returned home to him - as well as that of Severus Snape.

“Where is Hermione,” Neville asked, feeling one hand withdraw, the fidgety one.

“She is talking with a healer,” said Severus, gruffly. “We were feeling for your pulse,” he added, in explanation. The explanation would be believable to anyone but Neville, who was walking the thin blade of starting to trust Snape after years of utter terror. As it was, Neville wasn’t sure whether to believe the other man or not. The ugly bastard was just out of Neville’s line of vision, and Neville was grateful for this small mercy.

“You’re doing better, Neville,” Luna said, and Neville felt Luna squeeze harder, her hand providing some stability, and Neville began to realize that it was Snape who had been the fidgety one, not Luna.

Luna never doubted that Neville would be all right, it seemed, where is Severus seemed quite distracted or unclear on the matter.

“I'm so glad you're all right my dear,” said Luna, leaning forward to look into Neville’s eyes. She lifted Neville's hand, grasped it firmly, and raised it to her lips.

They were the lips he remembered, and not surrounded by a coarse manly face, but soft feminine skin that gave gently under his thumb. He tilted his head and opened his eyes wider to look at her, wondering momentarily if the horrifying vision he’d seen a month ago had been a nightmare.

But indeed, as he looked more closely at her, the signs were still there in a strong jawline and hands that were slightly big for her size. But overall, all seemed to be as he remembered, from before he knew her secret.

For a few blissful minutes, he relaxed into pretending that nothing had happened since she returned.

“I'm glad to see you,” he said, with greater sincerity then he realized he meant. “I'm so sorry that I was such an arse.”

“It's all right, my darling,” Luna said patiently, perfectly prepared to collude in his innocence. “I could have done a better job at preparing you, but it's hard when so many of my letters came back with marks ‘saying return to sender.’”

Neville seem to grow red, and didn't say anything. Instead, he sat up on the pillows a bit, with Luna’s assistance. He was greeted by the sight of Snape, who looked down his nose at Neville with some amount of dubiousness.

That particular look made Neville feel queasy because it reminded him very much of Severus’ humiliating of him in the classroom. Neville had shed so many tears because of this man. And now they were both fucking the same girl, for some reason.

Neville tried to push away his well-worn thought that Hermione’s dating of Snape was vastly out of character for her. Hermione had never liked bullies, and the cognitive dissonance required to date both such an abusive man and the boy he’d principally abused… it was enormous.

He ignored the fact that his own cognitive dissonance was pretty bad too. Reliving his trauma every day in order to not be alone as he lay dying? Now there was a fucked up situation.

Where was Hermione?

The nagging question echoed through his mind oppressively, and he wasn’t sure if he’d asked it aloud or not. It seemed to pulse through his skull like the noise of a dragon’s belly rumbling, and Neville felt bowled over by it.

“Where is Hermione?” asked Neville again, sinking back into the pillows without another word.

“She is with the healer,” said Severus, a tinge of impatience in his voice. “That's the third time you've asked since you woke up.”

“Really,” said Neville, not remembering the first or the second. Well maybe he remembered the second time, albeit hazily. “I am not feeling very well.”

“I understand,” Severus said. He sounded either tired or annoyed, depending on how generous Neville felt.

All of a sudden there was a flurry of hospital curtains, and there she was, in all her radiant beauty. Hermione Granger, with her wide eyes and her impossible hair and a flushed roundness to her face that still surprised Neville every time he saw her.

He still had not gotten used to her being chubby. No not just chubby - she was really getting fat. Her curves were starting to form into distinct, irrefutable rolls. Her arse knocked things over when she wasn’t paying attention. And the way she collapsed onto Severus’ lap – it nearly knocked the wind out of the man, though with Severus’ stoicism, Neville only heard a little involuntary moan.

And Neville himself, despite his illness, was definitely getting closer and closer to the state of chubby as well. His stomach seemed to be rounding with every day, his thighs growing pastier and his cheeks growing flabbier. He simultaneously loved and hated it. Loved it because Hermione was working so hard to get his strength back, and hated it because if he recovered, would she stop caring for him?

He couldn’t answer this question. In the meantime, Neville closed his eyes and tried to pretend that none of this was happening.

“Are you all right?” asked Hermione, approaching the bed cautiously. “You look quite bowled over.”

“I'll be fine,” said Neville, a tone of confidence in his voice that surprised him. “Look, it isn't as if this hasn't happened before.”

“What,” said Hermione, “This has happened before?”

“Yes,” Neville sad, and added, “twice last month for example, and a few times earlier this month as well.”

“Oh you poor dear,” said Hermione, “and you didn't think to tell me?”

“I did not want to worry you,” said Neville, his voice soft. “And besides,” he said, and his tone turned deeply, darkly bitter, “It isn't as though I am your primary concern anyway.”

“What was that?” asked Hermione, her face growing steely.

“I know I’m not your primary concern,” Neville said with a firmer voice.

Hermione proceeded to look around the room. “Do you mind?” she asked sharply, standing up from Snape’s lap, signaling a desire for privacy.

“Not at all,” Severus said easily, and as he got up, he added, “I’ll be in the Great Hall.”

“I’ll just wait outside,” Luna added, rising as well and exiting the enclosure gracefully.

“So what was that you said?” Hermione asked, as soon as the couple was alone. “That I’m not your ‘primary concern?’ What kind of jab is that?”

“Never mind,” Neville said, now regretting his words and wishing he’d eaten them. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Hermione said, and she was clearly enraged – but the only reason he knew was because her eyes were fiery with heat. “Neville Longbottom, I thought we were clear on the matter of your unkind remarks on the topic of Severus Snape. Did I hear you incorrectly?”

“Yes,” Neville said, feeling bludgeoned. He sank his head down onto his chest and tried to close off his mind to her criticism, because he knew that was the only way he could survive this safely. It’d all blow over soon enough.

“Then what did you mean by that?” Hermione asked, her voice pointed and guarded. And Neville just wished he could shut her up and get her to dump the sorry bastard already. But he also knew that he had to play the long game. He had to wait until Snape made such a foul misstep – which would surely happen any day now, Neville knew – and then he, Neville, would be there, waiting and ready for her.

Provided he survived his illness. Which, as it happened to seem at this point, was an event he anticipated would be more likely than not. Thanks in large part to Hermione, as it happened – according to the healer, all his metrics had started getting better once he had Hermione in his life.

Opting for a careful honesty was probably the best move for Neville, at this point. “I’m just jealous, I’m sorry,” Neville said, trying to make his words sound sincere. He wasn’t sorry at all, and he felt his rage was justified, but he needed to sell his apology. “It’s not easy to be… in a relationship with someone as sought-after as you,” he added, and he turned his head upwards. Hermione was gazing into his eyes, as if trying to assess how honorable his words were.

She seemed to conclude that they were in good faith.

“I understand that,” she said, and sighed. “I know this is so difficult for you.” There was emotion in her voice, except Neville did his best with to ignore it. “I don’t allow myself to have exclusive primary concerns,” she added, “for otherwise what would be the point of… this kind of arrangement?”

 

She gestured to the air, and Neville nodded with a note of sage understanding, even though it made his blood boil to check his reaction. “I have concerns for each person with whom I am involved,” said Hermione, sounding sad, “and my primary concern with you is that you are taking care of your health.”

“I am taking care of my health,” Neville said, but his heart was not in the statement.

“I know you’re showing up,” said Hermione, but she paused. “But I wonder how much you care to survive this thing?” She squinted her eyes at him. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately, and Neville wondered if she might need glasses.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said, turning his head away from Hermione. “It doesn't matter anyway.”

Neville wished he could draw some more sophisticated conclusions, but alas, he was not Hermione, so he wallowed in the sadness of knowing that he was useless and everyone was spending too much time caring about him that he deserved.

Hermione stood up suddenly, exasperated. “Well, if you’re going to be down in the mouth about it, I’ll just leave you to it. Believe it or not, Neville,” she added, a growl in the back of her voice. “People care about you. We want you to be well Neville, and we are all rooting for you.”

Neville just raised an eyebrow and his best imitation of Snape, which admittedly was not very good. He felt dry and sardonic, but he did not feel these things nearly so much as he felt bitterness. All of these people pretending to care about him – it just made him feel like he needed a cigarette, or to choke it up.

Yes, he really needed a smoke. “Fine. Excuse me,” he said, doing his best to lever himself out of bed. As soon as his feet hit the floor, he made a few steps to his clothes, which were folded on the end of the bed, and he withdrew the package of rolls he had prepared for himself.

“I'll see you all in a bit,” he said, the anger and self hatred coming out in the way he put on his words, Hermione simply stood there speechless as he stormed out to the terrace.

“At least he is up and at it again,” said Pomfrey, approaching Hermione. Hermione herself looked stricken, and she sank down wearily to sit on the chair next to Neville’s bed. “Though granted, I am somewhat more worried about him now than I was before, for his mind in particular.”

“Understandable,” answered Hermione, staring at Neville as he lit his blunt with a flick of his wand.

Poppy smiled gently, and offered her hand to Hermione. Initially Hermione did not notice, until she felt a kind finger brushing against her skin.

Hermione responded to this kindness by beginning to sniffle.

“Oh, love,” Poppy said, and offered an embrace to Hermione, which was gratefully accepted. Hermione began to cry in a low-volume, unobtrusive way.

 

“Shhh,” Poppy said softly, “It’s all right. Don’t worry on his account. We’ve got him in very good hands.”

Hermione didn’t answer, but continued to weep as Poppy rocked her. They may not have found great comfort, but they found what they needed from each other in the moment.


	88. clemency and settling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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That night, Hermione lay in bed next to Severus. He lay his arm over her, and it settled heavily and comfortably around her. It wrapped gently around her until his hand landed, soft and tender, on her overstuffed stomach. 

She'd hit the dinner table hard today, and he had done his best to keep his mouth shut. Hermione didn't deserve his hounding her with questions about what happened with Neville. But his mind clouded with questions he wanted to ask. 

(Is she just settling for me?) his mind whispered aloud. (No one in their right mind would be with me, especially someone like her. Pretty, intelligent, brave... Gryffindor... I once fought to desecrate her and all she stood for. This has got to be some sort of cosmic joke that I'm in love with a Mu-... a Muggleborn. 

(If she didn't have an unhealthy fixer-upper complex, would she be with me? If I was thin, would she be with me? If she wasn't heavy, would she consider being with me?

(Am I just a step for her towards something newer, fresher, younger, thinner, and better? Why is she with me at all? I don't deserve this kind of beauty in my life. 

(My just deserts are nothing more than a rotting hole in the ground. No, worse - I deserve to be interred at the Shrieking Shack, not even given the decency of a proper burial, my bones left alone and untouched for hundreds of years until some Potter descendent kicks them asunder as they tear the place down...) 

"What have you been working on all evening?" asked Hermione, interrupting Severus' train of thought. Her voice was mumbly. There was something in it that spoke to her attempt to concentrate her effort in his direction. 

It simultaneously relieved him - because it meant that she wasn't just stuck in her head and treating him as a mere object - but it also made him gloomy. Gloomy because he didn't know whether or not to articulate the thoughts he was having. Would it be too much of an emotional overload for her to process? Would expressing his fear that she secretly detested him, would that make her actually detest him? If he confessed his worst nightmares, would they play out in reality? 

Would she burn her out, and would he exhaust her compassion? 

He knew that he and his good dreams typically didn't work out too good. And he also knew that he and his bad dreams typically manifested, in one way or another. So chances were, in his opinion, that sooner or later her true colors would show, and she'd throw him over. 

But would it be so, just because of a self-fulfilling prophecy, borne of his own determination not to see the good in himself, and his own lack of appreciation of the gift he'd been given? 

Severus didn't know, and he tensed his muscles and kept his eyes closed shut, trying to keep tears at bay. As well as the panic, and the worry, and the self-hatred that would accompany them. 

"I've just been working on the final program for the conference," he said, trying to keep his voice steady and calm. He was surprised at how smooth his voice was despite the painful lump in his throat. "I believe we can't improve upon it. Except for having Finnegan Racecrea, as you know." 

"Yeah," Hermione sighed. "Poor dear, but he was really dodgy the entire time we corresponded. I suppose we oughtn't have counted on him in the first place." 

"I disagree," Severus said, with mild disagreement, "But I can understand why you would think so." 

"Anyway," Hermione went on, and yawned in the darkness. Then, with a deep breath, she flopped over and tumbled awkwardly onto her other side. Even in her dozy state, her radiant plumpness made his heart skip a beat in the darkness. She seemed to sparkle with the light of the stars, and he found himself smiling softly. As she nestled against him, pressing her head into his armpit, he wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her rumpled head. 

"Anyway?" he asked, prompting her to continue. And he kissed her again, tenderly. 

His stomach rumbled - his digestive system working to process a heavy but not extraordinary dinner of creamy pasta. Hermione giggled, and pressed her face into the crook of his belly, where it met his chest. She kissed the top of his tum, and snuggled between his breasts. 

"I forgot," she answered at last, and it seemed like she'd nearly forgotten to answer, but remembered just at the last moment. "It doesn't matter." 

"You matter," Severus said, his earnestness ringing far too unsubtly for his taste. But it was the truth. Hermione mattered far more to the world than he ever would. He had never been a good person. He never would be a good person, or if he would, he would never undo the horrid things he did as a bad person. He had been a truly demonic creature. 

And yet! Somehow! This enchanting, magical, unicorn of a creature seemed to find him worth spending time upon. He berated himself for not being more grateful. He knew that these opportunities for happiness came once in a lifetime. And he felt that he had been blessed with *two* such opportunities in his miserable existence, and how dare he try and turn it down? Especially given the trouble it must have caused the gods to send two beautiful women in his ugly arse's direction? 

"You do too," Hermione said, and pressed her lips into his stomach again. It was a sloppy wet kiss, as she seemed more interested in licking him than kissing him there, and Severus responded only by running his fingers through her knotted hair. 

The way that she responded, so casually - it nearly gave him palpitations every time. After so many, many, many years of aching for someone, anyone, to love him - how could he be loved now? What about him had actually changed, in his essence? 

A lot, he knew, had changed superficially about himself. But in his essence he was the same vulnerable, fiesty, viper-like creature who couldn't take no for an answer, and who would strike first and ask questions later (but in reality he'd do his research before striking, for the most part). 

What about him deserved clemency? He truly didn't know, and it frustrated the hell out of him that he didn't know. And it frustrated the hell out of him that he didn't know what to do with what he'd been given by the gods. 

Was he supposed to accept this gift and let it be, just as it was? Was Hermione some sort of test of his piety, for which he would later be punished? Would rejecting her be a great sin? Was the mere thought of rejecting her, was that what would doom him? 

He didn't know. All he knew was that suddenly Hermione, in a fit of playfulness, was blowing raspberries on his stomach. He yanked backwards, finding himself laughing involuntarily. 

"No, no," he begged, feeling those imminent tears come out of his eyes. He was grateful for the darkness on this account. "That tickles." 

"Oh does it?" Hermione asked, and he didn't need to see her face to know that it wore a wicked grin. She proceeded to dive into her stomach again, and gave him more raspberries, which made him nearly kick with the convulsions. 

"Enough! Enough," he beseeched her, and he turned over and wrapped his arms around his belly protectively, for what little good that would do. "Too much." 

And then, something about being in the fetal position, it made him melt. 

"Too much," he repeated, and he felt the dam break. 

"I'll... return," he eeked out, and he grabbed the throw blanket from the end of the bed, wrapped it around him as a hood, and raced to the living room. 

He sank into the sofa, where he pulled a pillow to his face. 

And, thus attired, he screamed into the pillow, feeling the weight of all those paranoid thoughts come gushing out of him. 

"Hon," Hermione called, and as Severus sobbed with an uncommon amount of power, she padded out to the main room. "Oh hon, I'm sorry." 

"No," Severus said, and tried a few more times to say words that would make sense to her. Once he could manage it, he said, "I just hate myself so. Fucking. Much." 

He continued to sob into the pillow, feeling so low and miserable. 

"What's happened?" Hermione asked, and then added, cautiously, "if anything." 

"Nothing's happened," Severus bit out, chastizing himself with every word. "Nothing's happened. I'm just a big piece of fucked up shit that can't keep his emotions in check anymore, that's what. And my life now is too good for the man I used to be. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you." 

"So what," Hermione asked, and her voice was sad. This observation made Snape hate himself even more. What right did he have, to make Hermione sad? None. None whatsoever. He should just end this awful existence of his, and stop being such a drain on everyone. Stop being such a drain on the world. 

Hermione, for her part, just wrapped herself around him while he cried. Her hands couldn't meet, as she sat trying to wrap her arms around his stomach, but they settled comfortably, and she stroked him with tender affection. 

"No one deserves anything, really," Hermione said thoughtfully, "and you aren't getting anything you either do or don't deserve. Your life is... what it is. And it's got good things, and not so good things. And maybe certian pieces are better than they've ever been for you, but that doesn't mean they'll always be perfect." 

She sighed, and pressed a kiss into his soft neck, and nuzzled him with her nose, in the place just behind his ear. "Life is uncertain. Life is dangerous. You know that better than anyone, my love. And so whatever we can enjoy from it now, let's do so. Because life is too unpredictable to worry about whether or not we deserve what we currently have. If we do, then we'll spend all that time we could be appreciating each other, spending it instead on trying to decide if it's ethical to appreciate each other. And I think we should be past that. Don't you?" 

Of course she spoke such sense. She was quite prudent at sorting out these things, and still Severus lamented. This was the pain that he dealt with, this was the sadness that burdened him. He doubted it would ever lift from his heart. He expected it to remain as part of his essence forever. It was part of his nature to doubt in himself, in everyone around him, and in the world. He expected the worst, and often he was proven correct. 

He didn't like being in a position where he didn't have a plan. He felt so strongly that he couldn't just leave everything up to chance. He just desperately wanted some amount of control overhimself, his life, etc. and to feel like his life mattered in more than just the romantic sense. 

Severus needed to be needed, and he felt like he wasn't getting precisely that experience of being needed. And he was grieving over the absence of this experience in his life, in truth. 

"Do you have more to talk about?" Hermione asked, and yawned. 

Severus, in response, just pressed a kiss into her hair. He loved her so. How could he not!

"I'm just going to cuddle up against you," Hermione added, quietly, and she pressed her forehead against the nape of his neck, and she softly put her breasts against this shoulder blades. 

"Mmm," she added, and she let her fingers roam his back. "You've got some muscle under all that fat, hm? Your exercise is working, it seems." 

"I'll never be the powerhouse of athleticism I used to be," answered Severus sadly, grateful for the distraction. "But yes, my work is paying off, to some extent." 

"That's sexy," she said with a smile, and pecked him on his soft cheek. "Plump *and* strong. Just the way I like them." 

"Thanks," Severus answered, though he continued to feel like a fraud of a lover. "Sorry for falling apart," he added, wiping his face on the throw and standing up again. "I'm ready to return to bed, if you are." 

"Of course," Hermione answered. Even in the darkness, he could tell that she was concerned, but she was willing to follow him as he took initiative. "Whatever you like." 

Soon they were back in bed, and Severus' eyes were closed. Hermione was quick to drifting off again. She scooted her pelvis as tight up against him as she possibly could, and wrapped one gentle arm around his boulbous flesh. "I'm happy to cuddle up against your big warm tummy," she purred, gathering as much love as she could extract from herself, and pushing it into his body as best she could. "You're exactly the right man to keep me warm tonight." 

"I'm glad of that," Severus said, feeling his heart stab with jealousy. *What about Neville?* the paranoia asked him. And as best he could - as bravely as he could - Severus tried to answer. "What about Neville, indeed?" 

And Severus, attempting to shake off the feelings he was having, encircled his own arms around Hermione. His fingers dug into her soft, squishy lovehandles, and he tried to close his mind to the thoughts that were tormenting him. 

*You've found love,* he told himself, and began to repeat it to himself. *You've found love, despite all odds.That's worth fighting for, isn't it?* 

He fell asleep with these words in his head, accompanied by silent tears coming from his eyes. These tears were brought on by his inability to connect his thoughts and his feelings, and he wished terribly that it was easier to fuse these two forms of perception. 

*You've found love,* he went on, feeling himself finally drifting off to sleep. *You've found love. Just be grateful for that.*


	89. pre conference sexytimes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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She wasn't convinced that her outfit *really* was the right choice for an academic conference. It was clearly a size too small, if not two sizes, and her breasts seemed in danger of spilling out of her neckline. Her stomach bulged beneath the lacing of her bodice, distorting the lines nearly beyond recognition. She was developing a second layer of belly, actually, and the tightness of her dress showed this off. 

"You look gorgeous," Severus said, clearly reading her thoughts. 

"Stop being in my head," Hermione said, tilting her head back and winking at him. 

"Don't flatter yourself, I don't need to bother with legilimency when you're so transparent," Severus said, a smug smirk on his broad face. 

"Hm, I'm surprised that 'transparent' is the word you choose with me," Hermione responded flirtatiously. She took the ends of her skirts in either hand, and twirled around to face him. 

She nearly stumbled into his arms, for he'd unexpectedly snuck up upon her. 

"What," Severus said, and his eyes were intense and attentively searching her face as he thought of what to say. "Do you think I'm implying?" 

The tone of his voice was mostly alluring, seductive, but there was something vulnerable in his question as well. As if he worried she was going to reject him based on what he'd initially said. And so, he deflected with a question. She was on to his game. So Hermione provided him with the reassurance he seemed to want. 

"I'm far too broad to pass as 'transparent,' darling," Hermione said, and with a gentle push, she pressed him up against the bed. 

"Oh, I think you still have a long way to go, yet," Severus said, taking Hermione by the waist with both hands. 

Hermione shivered and closed her eyes as Severus began running a long finger up her tightly-bound front. He let it gracefully glide up to her neck, along her chin, and then up to her luscious plump lips. 

He leaned in as if to kiss her, but he hesitated in a sense of dramatic suspense, and left Hermione reaching out with her tongue. She opened her eyes, and saw his smirking face hovering just out of reach. 

"Oh, fuck you, you fat git," she grumbled, and she pushed him gently in the chest. 

Feigning woundedness, he collapsed playfully upon the bed, clasping his breast in apparent pain. 

"Your words, they pierce me, my lady," he said, and splayed himself upon the covers in a massive mound of clothed flesh. "Pray tell them that I fought valiantly in your name." 

"It isn't your time yet, you goose," Hermione laughed with a bit of giddiness. "You owe me a tithe." 

"What more can I give you, my lady, but my honor and my fealty?" begged Severus, but he was grinning as he saw Hermione heave herself upon the bed. 

She knew there was more to this question than met the ears initially. But now was not the time to address it. He would willingly prostrate himself for her - not just metaphorically, and not just in the bedroom. 

He was so fucking vulnerable, and so fucking eager to sacrifice himself for her. It made her heart break to see it. He deserved a life where he respected himself, and his own identity, and wasn't so desperate to have her approval. 

But right now, they were in the midst of a drama, and she wasn't about to let the momentum go to waste. They could psychoanalyze this scene all they wanted, later. 

For the moment, she wanted them to just have fun, get some of their pent-up energy out, and then be able to focus on the conference they were about to host. 

And so, Hermione spread her legs, and smiled broadly. 

"Pay homage to my jewels," Hermione said, her voice convincingly stately. 

And then, she straddled Severus and held herself carefully over his face. A spell or two was required to keep her from straining too much, and the net result was that Severus had perfect access to the sweetness of her cunt. 

"Oh, what a privilege," Severus breathed, his voice hot and heavy as he smelled her bare skin and gentle hairy tendrils. 

"Was that sarcastic?" Hermione asked, lifting her skirt to make eye contact with Severus. 

"It was meant to be." Snape's eyes were closed, and his breaths were labored and savoring. He widened his eyes and smiled at Hermione in the every essence of genuineness. "But as it happens, you've seduced me too completely. You've disarmed me." 

"You're too fucking adorable," Hermione murmured, and leaned down awkwardly until her lips met his. The kiss was short, for the act of leaning prevented Hermione from breathing adequately. But she leaned back afterwards, and Severus took this cue to begin pleasuring her. 

His tongue was lazy and teasing, not pushing too hard or too fast. But it was just as diligent as ever. He'd mastered a heightened sensitivity to her impulses and flinches, and Hermione rarely found herself wanting something that he didn't immediately provide. 

Moreover, the pleasure was increased thricefold by his gentle moaning of enjoyment at spontaneous moments. His enjoyment of her, it made her feel simultaneously coquettish and relaxed, like a rabbit who was sprightly and invigorated by spring. 

"Taste me deeper," she found herself saying, arching her head backwards and breathing with immense, pounding desire that grew in a crescendo of sensation. "Please, enjoy me more." 

"Say no more," Severus said, and as soon as Hermione had slipped out of position, he was ready to go. His hard cock was in his hand, poking out of his black trousers and making a valiant attempt to lead him towards Hermione's cunt of its own volition. "Get down." 

With that, Hermione spread herself across the comforters like a comfortable creamy cheese upon a biscuit. And without further ado, she felt Severus' cock sink into her hot, tight cunt. 

"You're perfect," Hermione breathed, as Severus began to vigorously enjoy himself in her body. "Oh. Yes. Please." 

Severus was beginning to sweat a little with the efforts, but his face was neutral if not optimistic. "Takes one to know one," he murmured, though both of them could tell he didn't mean it. Even on a good day like today, he wouldn't accept her compliments deeper than surface level.

But that didn't matter for the moment. He was in the middle of fucking her, and she was enjoying it, and he was enjoying it, and all was right in the world. For the most part. 

Severus' strokes were definitive and, at moments, punishing. Though mostly their efforts were mostly like a pleasant, high-speed drive through the countryside. Low stakes, high pleasure, and there was an encouraging easiness, a sense of adventure but also a sense of comfort. 

Once in a while, as was customary in the missionary position, they met eyes, and Severus would lean forward and kiss Hermione sweetly - behind the ear, under the chin, on her forehead, or right on the lips. And then he'd pull back, and there would be a new inspiration in his strokes, as if he'd taken a renewed drive from this simple touch. 

Their flabby flesh of their thighs pleasantly interacted, sending each others' skin rippling with every stroke of Severus' body. The pad of fat around his pubes landed squarely against Hermione's clit, and each time it did, Hermione found herself gasping and moaning with pleasure. 

At moments, Severus had to lift his stomach to readjust his broad flabby stomach and reposition himself, in order to maintain his rhythm. 

"You're unbelieveable," Hermione observed as Severus panted, "Your stamina. Your energy. Your passion. Your vitality." 

"Got it - from a bottle," Severus responded with gasps, and suddenly his body began to convulse more with the indication that his desire was about to culminate. 

"Of course you did," Hermione said, and she felt her cunt tightening and holding tighter to his cock, reluctant to let it go. "Fat produces estrogen. The fatter you get, the less tesosterone you've got. Which reduces your libido, while also increasing your stamina. So to compensate, of course you have to use potions. You may be exercising, but you're still gaining weight. Especially around your plump middle and rear." 

"It's making me hungrier," admitted Severus, and his eyes were closed. "Every time I go out to hike or jog, I come back ravenous and eat twice as much as I would have eaten without exercise." 

"Of course," Hermione said, and she grabbed his soft love-handles appreciatively. "You're just naturally a big old fatty. No matter what you do, you're going to get bigger, Sev. So just enjoy it - enjoy eating your heart out. Enjoy stuffing your fat stomach so big and broad that you're as big as a hippogriff. Just as long as you still enjoy fucking my brains out."

"How could I not?" Severus moaned, his whole body tensing as he neared orgasm. "You're so plump and beautiful and wide-hipped and broad-bellied, the very image of feminine perfection, and every pound makes you more and more beautiful in my eyes." 

"Your softness is just as alluring to me," Hermione added, and she began kneading his flab. "You simply must let me touch you endlessly. I just want my fingers to explore your every crevice and cranny, and show you the way that you ought to be treated." 

"Please," he found himself asking, but then realized he hadn't formulated a question. With a hazy idea of what he as doing, he asked, "May I cum in you?" 

"Of course, my dear," Hermione said, and squeezed her thighs tighter so as to facilitate this better. 

With a fierce pounding effort, and a final wave of pleasure, Severus collapsed orgasmically upon the bed next to Hermione, face-first. 

"You're so beautiful," Hermione said, and she turned to look at him, and she gently stroked his hair out of his face. 

"So everyone says," Severus responded with a dry sense of humor, all too aware of his reputation as an ugly git. Hermione answered this self-deprecating comment by pressing a kiss upon his cheek, and closely cuddling him, one arm wrapped around his broad, tightly-bound stomach. 

"Shush," Hermione said, and she rocked Severus slightly. "I think you're very beautiful." 

"Let's not argue about this, all right?" Severus asked, his words a bit garbled by the fact that his face was smooshed into the pillows. 

"Fine," Hermione conceded, though she knew she was going to argue about this later with him. 

But not right now. Right now, they were supposed to be doing the final preparations to the entry table to the conference. And this brief interlude before the break of the new event, it was a short detente after several days of stressful, frenzied preparations. 

A lovely interlude, indeed. 

Hermione snuggled closer to Severus, though she really couldn't get much closer. They could spare just a few more minutes to recooperate. 

As she drifted off into a light doze, she contemplated Severus. 

How was it they seemed to have figured out their lives just in time for this magical kindling to occur? She didn't know, but she was incredibly grateful. 

She just wished that Severus could learn to just appreciate what he had, in her, without letting his illness ruin things. She would do her best to step in and prevent him from doing permanent damage to himself in terms of their relationship. But she could only control her own reactions to things. She couldn't control how he felt about himself, his life, and even how he felt about her. 

It was a sad, disempowering feeling to know how much of a challenge he felt on a daily basis, just to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Wasn't she worth living for? Did she not make him happy enough to provide him with hope? 

She wasn't sure if that hope was something she could actually export to him. She desperately wanted to, especially as she turned her head and stroked his smooth-shaved cheek, and his long locks of hair. He was so beautiful, and vulnerable. She wanted desperately some sense that she was actually helping him. 

Granted, she remembered those early conversations about his suicidal ideation, and the way he'd told her that he'd felt better, and less suicidal. She wondered where he was in regards to those feelings. 

At around New Year's she'd been certain that Severus was doing better. Seeing him dance, seeing him embrace newness and a sense of freedom... it was a sight for sore eyes. But she was worried that he hadn't moved on further, or that he'd even regressed. 

The past few days had clearly taken their toll on him. As he lay there with his eyes closed, Hermione saw how old he looked. How haggard, and how depressed. He wasn't thriving in the ways she wanted him to, and in the ways she felt she herself was. 

In truth, she realized that his life (from his standpoint) was pretty much a big defeat. He was employed at the same place he'd been abused for over twenty years (first as a student, then as a teacher). He was dating a former student, who he'd formerly abused. He was actively abusing his body by punishing it beyond the normal limits, challenging it daily with exercise and excessive amounts of food. 

But then a thought came to her mind, and she found it fairly therapeutic. She reminded herself that Severus was a soldier, and a soldier who was finally starting to learn how to survive during peacetime. And that it would take him a good long while to figure out how to live outside of a literal war zone. Perhaps it was easier to do so in Boston when he was living there, because it meant that he didn't have to confront his demons quite as viscerally. 

But he'd taken the brave step to return here. And Hermione couldn't do anything but admire that. 

So, she traced his stomach admiringly with one gentle finger, and let him snore. 

He really was beautiful, she thought, as the noontime sunlight streamed through their window. She closed her eyes and pressed her face into the softness of his fleshy large upper arm. 

"I love you so much," she whispered into his ear, though she knew he was asleep. "I can't believe we found this. I want so desperately to be with you for a long time. Don't let your illness get in the way of that." 

So saying, she pressed a gentle kiss against his cheek, and she closed her eyes to get just a few more minutes of relaxed sleep. She synchronized her breathing with Severus' and let herself be carried away into a miasma of other thoughts.

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	90. that's all

Hermione snuck into the room just before the doors closed shut, keeping her head down. She need not have bothered being covert - there was no way Severus could see her for the throngs of people in the room. With her petite height, she was nearly invisible behind the wizards and witches that crowded the potions classroom. 

But on the other hand, she was given a privileged view of Severus. Between elbows and shoulders she poked her nose, and soon found herself a comfortable stool miraculously not yet taken, in the corner. She sat upon it and crossed her legs prettily, propping her chin upon her closed fist. 

And the sight she saw, it took her breath away. There he was, Severus Snape, the Potions Master, standing in new tailored robes in his favorite old style, his arms crossed over his torso, his stance commanding, and his face hardened into a scowl.

He was every bit as scary as he'd been Hermione's first day of potions class, and she felt incredibly small to look at him. She began to feel an intense regret, a sense of entering freefall. 

*What am I doing?* she asked herself, feeling her throat tighten and her heart beat faster. *He's exactly the same as he's always been. He hasn't changed at all.* 

"Welcome," Severus said, his voice silky and sultry as he addressed the assembled potioneers. "To my presentation on the physical concentrations of dittany in variations of Wolfsbane." 

Hermione closed her eyes. He hadn't talked much about his own presentation for the conference, as they'd both focused much more on the logistics of the whole thing. And now, hearing him discuss Wolfsbane potion... it made her feel sick to her stomach. She felt as if she'd been transported by portkey to an alternative past. 

This nausea only grew as she heard Severus continue, " Much of this is based on a clinical trial that I oversaw several years ago, here at Hogwarts." 

She thought of Professor Lupin, and how much Snape hated him and the other Marauders. And as she watched her lover stand up there and throw diagrams and charts upon the grimy walls of the dungeons, she wondered how much Snape had used Lupin to experiment. He must have learned a lot about Wolfsbane that year Lupin was teaching at Hogwarts... 

"While there were only fourteen individuals enrolled in the trial, I had the privilege of following each of these cases for at least six months - and some much longer." 

Hermione frowned, and her mind readjusted. She'd had an image in her mind of Snape simply brewing the Wolfsbane for Lupin and tinkering with each batch. It hadn't occurred to her that there might have been others for whom Severus was brewing. 

Of course, her consternation was unknown to her lover, who was standing in front of the crowded room with an audience's eyes upon him. 

"It is with great pride that I must announce that six of the original fourteen are, to all extents and purposes, cured at this point of time - their symptoms at the time of the full moon are completely alleviated. Among the remainder," Severus continued, "four are currently at a maintenance level of marked improvement from their baseline condition. Two of the remaining have had no clinically significant improvement. And with regret, I must note the loss of two individuals enrolled in the trial - both for unrelated reasons. Though because no autopsies were performed, it can be speculated that the potion compromised their immune systems, leading to their deaths." 

This caught Hermione's attention. Had Lupin's death been an unnecessary accident? She thought it might be farfetched. After all, Tonks - and so many others - had lost their lives in the final battle. While Lupin's poor health had been notable during his tenure as professor, it didn't seem to scan that Snape's potions made him sicker. 

"In particular," Severus went on, "I wish to recognize the efforts of one Professor Remus Lupin, who was one of my earliest collaborators in this work. He made priceless contributions to the study, especially in its infancy." 

This left Hermione with stinging eyes, and she kicked herself for having doubted the man in front of her. 

Severus Snape had changed, and changed for the better. 

And of course, it was painfully obvious - wasn't his very body testament to that? 

The rest of the presentation was devoid of sentimentality, and also devoid of interest to us Muggle readers and writers. There was a great deal of technical explanations: a survey of the literature on Wolfsbane, justification for the study's goals and aims, and the ethical considerations taken into account. Then of course the details about the study itself, the demographics of the population studied, the methods used in practical applications of the potion making and administration, and the findings. 

All of these things were incredibly interesting to Hermione, who felt very proud of her man as he stood there, shifting in his shoes as his feet started to get tired. 

And then he looked across the audience, and announced, "Questions?" 

It was then that he saw her. The faintest flicker of a smile showed up on his face - not a smirk, but a genuine smile. To hide it, he ducked his head a little bit to let his hair fall into his face - an adorable though juvenile habit. 

This wasn't the same man who had breathed fire across the classroom, Hermione knew. He'd softened up, in more ways than one. And she was enchanted by the blatant nerd who stood before her, humbly championing a project she had no idea he'd completed. 

But just as she thought things were going all right, she noticed the room hadn't responded to his request. 

"Really?" asked Severus of the room, and his smile quickly soured into a smirk. "Come now, surely you're wondering about the use of essence of gadroot as a coagulating agent." 

The room remained painfully quiet, and Severus' brow furrowed. "No one?" he asked, his voice growing noticeably more tense. "Surely I'm not that comprehensive a speaker." 

A timid hand was raised, and Severus gestured gracefully at the potioneer, who was boldly near the front of the audience. 

"Gimbsy, isn't it? I believe I had you in your sixth and seventh years," Severus said, his face carefully neutral. 

"That's right, sir," said the pallid-looking man, who looked to be in about his thirties. "I'm just... if you don't mind, I do have a question. Not related to what you're talking about, exactly." 

Looking bored, Severus gestured for the man to continue. 

"So... sir, if you don't mind... why did you do what you did?" 

Snape's eyebrows shot up, and he didn't say anything. The idiot Gimsby continued, gaining confidence, "Why did you kill Dumbledore? And why aren't you in prison?" 

Oh, Hermione had thought wrong about Severus Snape breathing fire across the classroom. She felt the heat of his anger emanating through his eyes, and with a quick shuffle, she scrambled off her chair and sashayed to join Severus at the podium. 

"Does anyone have any *relevant* questions with which to address Professor Snape?" asked Hermione firmly, putting a gentle and protective hand on Severus' shoulder. 

"Um, it is pretty relevant, isn't it," piped up some old fellow who was wearing a Gryffindor tie. "Why should we believe that this man isn't trying to poison our patients? What credibility does he have? He's a Death Eater, an enemy of all that was good."

"Gadroot is *nontoxic* when combined with the reagent in the potion," spat Snape with an ironic amount of venom in his voice. 

Hermione gently pushed her way forward. "Severus Snape has been acquitted by the Wizengamot," she announced, her voice just as chilly. "That should be enough for the likes of you all." 

"But this is the first time he's appeared in public in half a dozen years," Gimsby pressed, "I can't believe the man's just innocent, you know? Not without some proof-" 

"-Enough!" 

Severus Snape the dragon re-emerged, and his eyes were fierce. Every muscle in his body was tensed, and Hermione was impressed to see a hint of biceps wiggle as he clenched his fists. 

"I came here to discuss potions amongst my peers," he hissed, "if all you *children* want is a history class, go talk to Binns. I'm sure he'll be happy to oblige." 

So saying, he stormed out of the room, every inch of his robes billowing in a terrifying manner. 

Hermione was torn - her conference attendees were engaging in a clamor of conversation. But her emotionally volatile lover had just been publically humiliated. 

She opted to chase after him. The idiots could wait. 

..............................

"I feel like I want too much," Severus moaned into Hermione's soft breasts. He sniffled again, and she rocked him gently in response. "I should have known it would go like this." 

"I think you did, actually," Hermione said kindly. "Why else would you insist on keeping your name off most of the materials." 

"That doesn't make me feel better," Severus announced coldly, but the bite in his voice was dampened by the choking back of another sob. "I'm just a fucking trainwreck, Hermione." 

"I don't think so, love," she responded, and she pressed a kiss into his scalp. "I think it's fair to remember that this was your first public appearance since... everything happened." 

"A select invite-only potions conference is *hardly* public," hissed Severus. Again, the savageness in his voice had less of an impact because of his mumbling through Hermione's flesh. 

"Well, public enough, I guess, for people to start asking questions." 

"And why does that matter?" he asked, his frustration apparent in the way he scowled. She could feel his facial muscles move against her bare skin, and it tickled. She swallowed her giggle. 

"Because the first time is always the hardest," Hermione answered. She wasn't entirely sure how true this was, or would be, for Severus' case. His situation was unique in that he had effectively assasinated one of the nation's most beloved wise old men, and seemingly escaped punishment entirely. 

"I doubt it'll get any easier, anytime soon," Snape responded, and he sighed with resignation. 

All Hermione could think of was to hug him tighter. 

He seemed to relax into it for several long moments, but then he seemed to want to wiggle out of her arms. She let go and easily let her fingers worm their way down his tunic and its many buttons. 

"I need to call Erika," Severus said, sitting up and rubbing his hands across his face. "I don't know if I can do this, Hermione." 

"What do you mean, this?" Hermione asked, and watched as he stood up with a forlorn look in his eyes. 

He didn't look at her, instead letting his hair fall to cover his emotions. "This," was all he said, accentuated by the stiff swallow of repressed tears. 

With a flick of his wrist, he had his cell phone in his hand, and he pressed Erika's speed dial and walked into the other room, closing the door behind him. 

It only then occurred to Hermione that this... this might be the first step towards him breaking up with her. 

And inside her, her stomach turned to solid lead.

...............  
music inspiration for this chapter: That's All by Genesis


	91. broken

Hermione let him be for the moment, paging others to attend to the proceedings - Minerva, and a few of her older students who were assisting with the conference. Minerva gracefully replied she'd take care of smoothing things over, with some aid from Poppy and Horace, who were in attendance. 

These messages dispatched, Hermione allowed herself to breathe, and her eyes kept coming to the bed. 

Her bed. It seemed a hundred years since that beautiful morning tryst they'd shared. He'd been nervous, true, and she could tell that. But he hadn't fallen apart until he was so indecently scorned by his peers. 

It was his first attempt at creating a new image of himself, in the eyes of the broader wizarding public of Britain. And that image was rejected callously, at least by the community outside the school. 

Hermione knew Severus Snape well enough by know. She knew that he was chewing himself out for having gained any amount of confidence from the small victories they'd had together, and that he hated himself for having taken too big a risk. And undoubtedly he was reviewing in his mind other risks that he'd taken, other things that perhaps he wasn't certain about. Likely he counted their relationship among the other things in his life that he might consider too grand to succeed. 

It wasn't as if they'd been together for that long a time, after all. 

Hermione felt her age very acutely in this moment. Her twenty-odd years to his forty-odd? He had a whole Hermione-lifetime's-worth amount of life behind him. What kind of expert did she think herself, to imagine that she could swear her fealty to him for any length of time? What kind of fool did she think him, to imagine that he could trust her youthful intentions and her optimism? The amount of time they'd been together, it was just a blip of time in his perspective. Just a pleasant dream that could end at any time. 

Oddly, this sad thought made Hermione feel like she'd aged twenty years at least. It took her several moments to shake off the feeling. 

She'd been spending too much time in Severus' head practicing legilimency, she guessed. Too much time thinking about him and his issues. It wasn't as if she didn't have her own problems to consider. 

Angrily, Hermione looked at her cuticles, which she'd been chewing ever since Severus went in the lav. She had her own troubles, thanks very much. She couldn't spend the rest of her life looking after Severus Snape, particularly when he made it so difficult. 

This thought twisted in her mind uncomfortably, and she sat silently staring at the ceiling trying to figure out why. Ultimately, the more she thought about it, the more she hated herself - because despite everything, she *wanted* to spend the rest of her life looking after Severus Snape. Perhaps partly *because* he made it so difficult. 

Oh, her infamous heroine complex. It never really went away, just sometimes tucked itself away under the furniture of her mind. And then it would come out to interrupt her at inopportune moments, like a certain ginger kneazle she loved. It was an inextricable part of herself, and she had better come to accept it. 

Hermione scowled at the wall in front of her, and crossed her arms. She didn't like just sitting here, waiting for him to get his act together. It was infuriating, and Hermione wasn't a patient woman on the best of days. On days where her stress level was beyond the stratosphere... 

Finally, she decided enough was enough. She knocked on the door of the lav. 

"I've got to go," she began to say, but she heard Severus' voice softly rumble, "Come in." 

So she did. 

He was sitting on the floor, looking quite a mess. His phone was clearly undergoing the complicated process of an electronical 'reparo' (which took longer than regular 'reparo' and had a very distinctive odor). 

But when she came in, he made an attempt to give a smile. It was an eerie smile. The kind he'd give if he were about to go on the gallows but didn't want to worry her. It was twisted. And his eyes revealed nothing, dead from the instinctual occulmency defenses that he'd strenously put up. 

"Love," she said, and eased herself onto the floor next to him. She offered her hand, and thank *all the gods* he took it. But there was something very weird and chipper about the way he clasped it, and this frightened her. He seemed quite... cracked. She never had seen someone quite in this state before, and it was haunting. 

"It'll all be all right," he said, staring straight ahead of him, not even looking at her. But he seemed to sense her worry. "I've got to go to St. Mungo's for a while. Meds not working as they ought. But it'll all be all right."

Hermione took a very deep breath, and closed her eyes. She hesitantly leaned against his shoulder, and he responded kindly, almost as if he weren't the one enduring a shattered psyche, allowing her to sink into him. He took her other hand comfortingly, and rested their clasped hands all together on his plump thigh. 

"That's fine, dear," Hermione said, after a long pause. "I'll take you." 

.................... 

"He was doing *so* well," Minerva said as she hovered in the hospital admission antechamber. She looked uncharacteristically flustered, and there was some wetness at the corners of her eyes. 

"He is still," Hermione said wearily, resting her elbow on the uncomfortably-small hospital chair in an attempt to make it slightly more bearable. "It's just he wasn't expecting people in the professional community to receive him quite so..."

"...Unprofessionally?" Minerva supplied, her steely voice fluttering just a trifle with indignation. "I would tend to agree." 

"I guess that's the problem with Hogwarts," Hermione said softly. "It's hard for us to remember within the school that it exists in its own little bubble of self-knowledge." 

Minerva McGonagall nodded somberly, a grim smile on her face. "Alas, it's likely why things like hosting academic conferences went out of vogue during Albus' time. The man was thick as a pudding when it came to having people from the outside contribute to the school's academic profile. He always said that it was in order to prioritize the students, but now I suppose we know that it was quite a different matter." 

Hermione didn't need to be told what this 'different matter' was - the list of 'different matters' seemed endless. Protecting the school from Tom Riddle? Avoiding Grindewald? Shielding individuals for political favors or personal motives? 

"It was the reason we lost many a talented teacher," McGonagall added with a sad voice. "They wanted career advancement. Professional prestige. Opportunities to move up, reasons to sacrifice their energy and talent on children who were often...well...children.

"And Albus would just shut down any further discussions of these kinds of things, and for a long while I couldn't understand it. So it's fortuitous that you and Severus are interested in making Hogwarts a jewel of the adult research community again, from my perspective." 

She finished primly and offered a warm hand to Hermione. "It gives me hope to see you young people so hopeful," she added, a sober twinkle coming to her eye. "It renews my poor aching heart, and salves some of the wounds from the guilt that I carry." 

"What guilt?" Hermione asked, her voice soft. She barely felt like she could speak at all; her mouth was dry and she was chewing on the inside of her cheek compulsively, to the point where she had drawn just the faintest hint of blood. 

"The guilt for being part of an insane generation that let the generations after us - the children and grandchildren and great grandchildren of my peers - fight battles that had nothing to do with them. Battles we should never have brought them into," Minerva observed, staring straight ahead. Then she shook her face resolutely. "Don't mind my woolgathering, in my dotage I find myself more and more melancholy, in some ways." 

Hermione smiled, making her best attempt to seem reassuring. 

"You're all right," she managed to say, and she stood carefully (easing herself out of the sticky chair situation) to press a kiss into the withered old woman's cheek. 

Minerva squeezed Hermione's hand harder, and the two of them sat silently in the comfort of two old veterans, until a nurse came to offer them a pot of tea. 

................ 

Hermione was allowed to visit the day after Severus was admitted to the hospital. She found him underneath a pile of pillows, with the curtains drawn and wearing a pathetic hospital nightgown that was two or three sizes too small. 

"How are you feeling?" she asked, sitting down in the visitor's chair. Her hand immediately went to fidget with her visitor's identification badge, which rested on her breast. 

She'd avoided dressing provocatively, in order to keep Severus focused on his recovery - she didn't want to try and undermine his health by enticing him to leave the hospital before his time. 

"They've thrown the kitchen sink at me," Severus moaned, not removing himself from the pillows, "And oh holy lord of mercy, it's killing me." 

"Headache?" Hermione asked, and she got a pillow forcefully thrown at her face. 

"You think?" snarled the man, but the sternness of the effect was marred by several facts: a) his face was still quite hidden below nearly a dozen pillows, b) Hermione saw the unmistakeable ears of a large stuffed rabbit poking out from under some of the pillows, and c) his belly in its boulbous size in comparison to the pile of pillows around his head lent almost a comic effect on the scene. 

"I'm sorry, you don't deserve that," Hermione said. He seemed to be doing better, so she took the chance of sitting on the edge of his bed, near his head. "Can I excavate you for a quick kiss?" 

"Let me close my eyes," Severus grumbled, and then he said, "All right. Go ahead." 

"Sleeping beauty," cooed Hermione with a dry chuckle, and she took a few pillows away until she could find Severus amidst the mess. "Does the matron know how many pillows you have in here, by the by?" 

"Not unless you tell her, witch," snarled Severus, but he was quick to reciprocate when Hermione pressed her lips into his. She pulled back, and reflexively his eyelashes fluttered. "Dammit witch," he added with almost as much venom, "why are you so fucking pretty?" 

The compliment made Hermione laugh a little bit, and she pressed a kiss into his soft cheek in thanks. "I don't know," she said, and she began to pile the pillows back over his face again. "I thought from yesterday, you might not care about that anymore." 

"Don't you dare say that," Severus said, though he seemed to have a comic edge to his voice. "I'd never malign you that way." 

"You... you did say some fairly concerning things, though," she added, her tone more serious. "I need to talk with you about them, though it doesn't have to be now." 

"Might as well," Severus grumbled. "Or you'll just chew on it for weeks on end, and I'll chew on the fact that you're chewing on it, and it'll get ridiculous sooner or later. So let's cut to the chase." 

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked, "I mean, you are in the hospital." 

"All the better place for you to ask probing questions that might make me spontaneously combust, my dear." 

The laugh in her throat was a little harder to stifle into a chuckle, and Hermione was glad to hear Severus make a few laughing gasps too. 

"Oh god my head. Don't make me laugh a single bit more, hellish vixen," Severus snarked. 

"You made yourself laugh!" protested Hermione, and her giddiness and relief were flowing a bit obviously out of her voice. But it sounded like it was doing him good. 

"Well I wouldn't make myself laugh if I weren't in the company of such a delightfully cotton-brained Gryffindor with the temptatious imagination of a minx," Severus drawled. 

It was a silly conversation, but it was what they needed at the moment. 

Hermione took the opportunity to move better onto the bed. Severus budged over obligingly, and Hermione's fingers wound their way down to his feet, where she began to massage them in the thick hospital socks. 

"Oh gods," he breathed as her thumbs entered his arches. "I should give offerings in thanks of your gifts, Hermione." 

"Shush," Hermione said, continuing to minister her attentions. "I just care about you." 

Severus didn't respond immediately, and Hermione almost was afraid he hadn't heard her when he said, with a choked voice, "And that's one of your many gifts."

And Hermione didn't know how to acknowledge this, other than to continue massaging his feet. His hands were hidden amongst the pillows too well, or she would have grasped one. 

"So, what was it you wanted to ask about?" he said, after a few long minutes of comfortable silence. 

"Yesterday," Hermione said, and she sighed. "I guess maybe it was nothing, but you said something to the accord of 'I can't do this.' I don't know what you were talking about, exactly." 

"Neither do I," Severus said with dismay. "I suppose at the moment, I meant this. Being back at Hogwarts. Living the life that I'd left behind, on purpose. This exercise of seeking amends and atonement. This thing about facing my demons. This thing where I try to live the remainder of my days with the few people who have known me since childhood, the closest I've ever had to a family in my entire life.This thing of trying something terrifying and new, with you." 

"That's so much riding on this single event," Hermione said, and she pressed her lips into the tops of his stockinged toes. "You know that isn't a rational conclusion to draw. A failure at one thing-" 

"-Ah!" Severus said sharply. "You think it *was* a failure." 

"I'm not saying it was," Hermione responded, tempering her response carefully. "Just the result wasn't what we expected, and in that sense it was a failure. But it wasn't a failure on your part, my love. You were... you were fucking brilliant." 

She found herself squeezing Severus' feet hard, and she patted them gently and released, in a mild apology. "I had no idea the kinds of things you were doing with Professor Lupin. And after all he and his friends did to you? That's amazing." 

"It was self-serving," Severus grumbled. "I just wanted to eradicate werewolves from the face of the earth. Still do, in fact." 

"But your work has helped people, you said it yourself," Hermione said, and she saw a hand rise from amid the pillows and blanket nest. 

"Give me your foot," he said calmly, in an aside, and Hermione readjusted herself so she could in fact provide him access to one of her own stockinged feet. He began to massage it gently as she talked. 

"You made it so people who have struggled for a long time, they're able to finally have some hope of living a life where they're able to live normally," Hermione said, "and that's brilliant. I was so proud when you gave credit to Professor Lupin as a collaborator. I just was so full of pride for you. There wasn't a whiff of failure in the room while you were talking, my love." 

"I trust you feel like you're unbiased, but my dear, Gryffindors can't tell bias from a can of beans." 

Hermione ignored the dig. "I couldn't imagine a more spectacular failure than that of the idiots in the room - their failure to recognize your talent and success for what it is. Their smallmindedness. It was awful and they had no right." 

"You're wrong, my dear," Severus grumbled, "I would have preferred a crotchety old bunch of master potioneers who told me what I was doing was impossible and tore apart my research journals." 

"Liar," Hermione said with a grin. "You like your applause." 

"Maybe I do, but only when it's deserved," Severus went on, "and what I endured yesterday? That was indeed deserved." 

"It wasn't," Hermione protested, but Severus insisted. 

"No. It was. I didn't make the obvious strategic steps necessary to make my future re-entry into the world of wizarding Britain the seamless event I hoped it would be." 

The voice from beneath the pillows was self-reproachful. 

"But as I've had time to consider my options, I think I have the solution." 

"What is it?" 

"I think I have to write a fucking book or something. Go on the radio. 'Tell my story' and all that rot," Severus concluded, his voice bitter. 

"Or you could... not," Hermione suggested kindly. "You don't need to do that. You could be a hermit in the castle of Hogwarts, completely isolated from the rest of human society." 

"But don't you see!" 

Severus sat up, and his face was white, and his eyes were wide. "Hermione, I may be an old codger who hates the world and everything in it, but dammit, I deserve the chance to see it all and complain about it all. And I can't do that if I'm a bloody shut-in at Hogwarts!" 

"Is everything all right in here?" asked a voice from outside, and Hermione saw a tidily apportioned house-elf in a hospital uniform. 

"Oh, indeed," Hermione reassured her, and the creature nodded and cracked away from the scene in an instant. 

"I'm on watch still," Severus said, leaning back again and piling the pillows back on top of him. Hermione helped layer them carefully, blocking out the light. "But I'm out of danger of doing something cowardly and stupid, let me assure you." 

"So where do you sit on the matter of... this?" Hermione asked, and added, to use his words, "This new and terrifying thing we're doing?" 

Severus sucked in a breath, audible even beneath the pillows. Hermione waited attentively for his response. 

"It's the most important reason I have for living right now," he answered after some contemplation. "That's why I blocked myself off so thoroughly with occulmency, yesterday," he added. 

Hermione was amazed by the amount of insight he was expressing, and noted that perhaps Severus felt more comfortable with intimate discussions in the dark. "I knew my impulse was to throw you away, because I was falling apart. And I couldn't risk that, so I brought out the concrete." 

"Oh, love," Hermione whispered, and she reached out and grasped his hand, where it was still attending to her heels and arches. She held his hand tightly, and pressed a gentle kiss upon it, and they sat there for a thoughtful amount of time. 

.................................. 

 

/Broken by Norah Jones


	92. graham plopp plot and valentine's

Hermione came to the hospital on Valentine's day to discover that her man was waiting at the nursing station, and there was a small smile on his face. 

"All fixed up?" Hermione asked, feeling a little shy. 

He lifted his arm in response, and pulled her into a deep, sweet-smelling embrace. 

"As much as I'll ever be," Severus responded, and he kissed the top of her head. It was a comfort to feel him, warm and tender in his woolen winter robes. 

"I didn't think you'd be out today," Hermione said, and added, "I had brought you something." 

"Of course you did," Severus said, and he reluctantly let go of her to pick up his bag. "I suppose this is an incentive for me to stay out of the hospital - I won't have to accept any more of your infernal gifts." 

This made the nearest nurse frown as she overheard him, but Hermione stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the side of the mouth. 

"You'll take my infernal gifts and be grateful for them, you scallywag," Hermione chastised, and she grasped his hand. "But I suppose this can wait til after breakfast. Are you hungry?" 

"You know me well enough by now that such a question ought to be rhetorical," grumbled Severus, but he was clearly in a good mood. He squeezed her hand and they left the ward together. His fingers played across the inside of her palm as they entered the floo, and she felt her insides melting into a mushy oatmeal. 

"To Hogsmeade," Hermione announced, and in a flash they emerged from the public access fireplace at Aberforth's establishment. As usual for the morning, the bar was fairly empty, and their arrival went relatively unnoticed by the few folks hiding shame-facedly in the shadows. 

Snape didn't say anything, but pulled Hermione firmly along until they were outside. And even then, he didn't say anything - he just held her hand and tugged her, and she struggled to keep up with his long strides. 

They wound through the village, and ended up on a little street that Hermione had never seen before. There were a few simple shops here, and one red-bricked restaurant with chintz lace curtains and a bright red door. Smoke emerged from the chimney, and the warm sweet smells in the air made Hermione's mouth water. 

"Ah, yes," Severus said, and then walked slowly towards the door. It jangled open ahead of them, and suddenly they were face-to-face with a distinguished-looking man with an auburn beard and a trim figure, and a flashing smile reminiscent of Gilderoy Lockheart's. 

"Why, Severus Snape, as I live and breathe," said Graham Plopp aloud, and he chuckled lowly. "How are you, my good sir?" 

"Cold," Snape answered, "Do you mind letting us in?" 

"Oh of course," said Plopp, "I was just leaving but I'd love to chat with you a bit if you wouldn't mind." 

He squinted a bit performatively, adding, "And who is this lovely young creature you've got on your arm?" 

"You know perfectly well," drawled Severus, and he added to Hermione, "While you, darling, need no introduction to any wizarding man with a subscription to the Daily Prophet, this mediocre creature's name is Graham Plopp." 

"The first and last heir to the Plopp estate," Graham added sweetly. "Now, would you be so kind as to come in?" 

"That was our agenda," Severus responded with an eyeroll. 

The man opened the door wider and held it open for them both to enter. 

The cafe was small, with only a handful of tables, and a bored-looking redheaded waitress sat reading a magazine at the counter.It was a bare establishment, without any form of art or ornamentation other than some fresh flowers and potted plants. One table had the remenants of what must have been Graham's breakfast, but Graham grandly gestured at an accommodating clean table in the darkest corner of the cafe. 

As the trio sat, three coffee cups came shooting from the direction of the counter, and an accompanying decanter of coffee poured itself into the cups without any ceremony. 

"Your boyfriend certainly has good taste to bring you here, darling," Graham said, and he seated himself on one of the chairs. His position was nearly that of a contortionist, where he posed with one leg folded next to him, and he wrapped his arm around it. "This may look like a dive, but it's one of the finest dining establishments in wizarding Britain." 

"I see," Hermione said carefully. 

Severus clearly was grumpy about the whole affair, but Hermione also could tell there was something else keen and alight within him - something tense, on alert. 

It didn't take much more than that to give her the warning that this man was dangerous. But in her mind she heard Severus clearly enunciate through legilimency: "Stay where I can see you." 

She felt her heartbeat quicken, and she looked at him involuntarily. He was stony-faced, a surly frown on his lips, but otherwise he did not seem to be paying attention to her. 

"Clearly you have something you want from me," Severus went on, as Graham sipped his coffee. "So out with it, and get on your way." 

"Oh come now, you need not be so abrupt with me," Graham said cozily, "I'm an old friend of yours, Severus." 

"And today is Valentine's Day," Severus responded shortly. Hermione was surprised to hear him say that - she was so used to Ron forgetting special days, that the day was scarcely remarked upon even in her own mind.

She felt a flutter of desire grow in her as Severus went on, "I have been away from my woman for over a week, and I'm eager to monopolize her time. So: Keep. It. Brief." 

"Oh," said Graham, and he seemed put-out. "Fine," he pouted, "But only out of respect to your date, Snape. Clearly you need all the help you can get within the romance department - especially these days." 

Hermione felt a knife-stab of anger course through her veins, hot on the heels of her hunger, but she also felt Severus firmly squeeze her hand. And she recognized this as a signal to not say anything in his defense. 

"So, my dear, perhaps you need to... ahem... powder your nose or somesuch?" Graham asked, and the slight condescension in his voice was palpable. Clearly the implication was, *so the men can talk.* 

"I don't think I need to, actually," Hermione said, bearing in mind Severus' warning. "I'm rather curious about what you're asking, anyhow." 

"It... it really doesn't concern you," Graham went on, looking a bit like he'd accidentally found a bit of anchovy in his coffee. "If you wouldn't mind giving us a bit of privacy, my dear..." 

"Anything you want to say to me, you can also trust with her," Severus said, and he glanced meaningfully at Hermione for the slightest of moments. "We keep no secrets from each other." 

Graham, in exasperation, rolled his eyes and put his casually-poised leg back under the table. "Fine," he said, just short of a spat. "Snape: you didn't respond to the invitation I sent you in December." 

"Of course not," Severus responded evenly. "As I told you, I used it for kindling." 

"Damn expensive kindling, too," griped Graham, "Now, don't you burn this one." 

Then, out of nowhere, Graham manifested an invitation on cream-colored paper, and thrust it at the oblique potions-master. 

"You are hereby invited to the Grovner Square Ball to celebrate the first day of spring," Graham said, "And here is the reason why. I have an indelicate proposal for you, and there's a lot of money in it for you if you listen." 

Severus sat back and steepled his fingers together. 

"I have no need of money," he said slowly. "Why would you come to me?" 

Graham laughed. "Oh Severus, you think I didn't do my research before I came to you? Laughable. I know the exact balance of your Gringott's account and the exact nature of your Hogwarts contract. You are basically giving your labor in exchange for room and board. Don't make me have to spell out the sorry state of your financial status in front of your lady friend." 

"You obtained that information illegally," Severus said, but there was no bite to the observation. Instead, he was intensely staring at Graham, and Hermione was fascinated by her boyfriend's close attention to the other man. 

"And you think that matters to me one whit?" Graham said with a bitter laugh. "Oh please, Severus. I'm a desperate man. Why would I come to you otherwise? I need you." 

"For what?" Severus asked, his tone cold. 

"For your skills! Your talents!" Graham exclaimed, and he waved his fingers as if he were on stage. "You're the greatest spy in the world, Severus Snape - you outfoxed the greatest foxes in the whole of wizarding history." 

"Oh gods," Snape sighed, and he shook his head. "Listen, Graham. That chapter of my life is completely over. Completely. I have no desire for my life to possess anything more dangerous than my cholesterol." 

"We both know that's not true," Graham said, and he gazed meaningfully into Snape's eyes. "Come on. You're clearly stagnating without anything to do." 

"I think I'm in the best position to assess my own needs," Severus responded with a sinister tone. His eyes were shining and sharp, and Hermione began to wonder exactly how accurate this declaration was. 

She knew how much he had pushed himself to prepare for the conference, and that had been such a miserable failure. She wondered if he might need some other kind of distraction to keep himself from perserverating on it. She certainly knew he'd talked endlessly about it while he was in the hospital - his plans for how he would reintroduce himself to the wizarding world through writing a novel, how he'd finally start accepting the interview requests... heck, in one of his odder flights of fancy, while in the hospital, he'd even considered the idea of someone making a movie about his life!

And, well, the more she thought about it, the less these plans sounded right for him. He was a shrinking violet, in truth, though to see him at a podium you wouldn't know it. He achieved this confidence only when he exhaustively prepared, as she had witnessed him do for months prior to the conference. Severus Snape, for all his wit and bon-mots, was not charismatic. He was too bookish and reclusive, and he was more apt to scorn the bright lights of fame and glory than to embrace them. They didn't bring him pleasure the way that giving a comprehensive lecture on an exhaustively prepared topic did. And he was too vulnerable to the fickleness of the public. 

No, Severus Snape was not a man to attain the forgiveness of the public that loathed him, Hermione realized. She wished to the deepest depths of her heart that she could believe otherwise... but Severus Snape had too much darkness in him for the general public to love him, or even really respect him at this point. It would take time for him to be accepted, slowly and cautiously - and he would have to win over key figures in the social milieu of wizarding society, one by one. 

"Well, let's give Severus a chance to think about it," Hermione said cheerfully. "But you've obviously got to give us more details. Probably in private, I imagine." 

Graham shrugged. "This place is one of the most secure places in wizarding Britain, my dear - if you didn't notice the absence of portraits on the walls, and the incredible laxness of the waitress. This is an establishment run by a small collective of pureblood families, pardon the expression, and discretion is highly valued by this collective." 

Snape just rolled his eyes. "So give us your details and be off with you," he grumbled. 

Graham looked as pleased as a kneazle given a bucket of cream. "So here's your contract," he said cheerfully, and whipped out a parchment and handed it to Severus. "Read it over with your solicitor and then deliver it back, signed." 

"And if I have proposed edits, not signed," Severus shot back, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. 

"Look, I'll even sign a copy that you completely redraft if you so please," Graham said easily. "The fact of the matter is, Snape, I am indeed desperate. So whatever it please you to stipulate, I'll gladly comply." 

"So glad to know that I have the imperative, so long as I do this labor that I never wanted," Severus said, and he pocketed the contract smoothly. "But now, Graham, will you leave my lady and I alone for our breakfast?"

"It's getting rather closer to brunch at this point, I'm afraid," Graham said, and he grinned sympathetically. "My most sincere apologies for interrupting your lovely romantic morning, my friends. Ta ta, I'll be off on my way now." 

So saying, he rose and sauntered out of the restaurant, leaving nothing behind but the scent of lavender pomade and an uncomfortable chill from outside. 

"Good fucking god," Snape grumbled, but then he shook his head to cleanse his emotional palate. "So, vixen - you said you had a present?" 

"Oh, erm, yes," Hermione said, and put aside her coffee cup and her complicated thoughts at once. Both could be considered again later. "Here." 

From her bag, she withdrew two packages of roughly the same shape. 

"It's actually a gift for both of us," Hermione said, and laughed a little to herself. "Somewhat by accident. But it worked out in the end." 

Furrowing his brow, Severus simply undid the simple red ribbon, and let it coil neatly on the table. Then he gently unpeeled the contents of the brown paper package. 

He chuckled when he saw the contents. 

"Oh, Hermione," he said softly, and held up the woolen knitted jumper. "You made me a Weasley sweater." 

"It's green," protested Hermione with a giggle. "And sorry, I don't know any other patterns other than the one Molly taught me. But I did figure out how to make it have a high neck," she added, "I thought you might prefer that, generally." 

"Generally," agreed Severus, and he ran his elegant long fingers across the fabric. He seemed to contemplate it, and his fingers began to dig into the feel of it, which made Hermione very satisfied. 

"It is actually very... pretty," he said at last, "and the texture is... deceptively soft." 

"Yeah, that's one improvement I've made on Molly's work," Hermione said sweetly. "I can afford better yarn since I'm not making sweaters for my entire brood." 

"How fortunate," Severus said, and he gestured to the other package on the table. "So now, what is this?" 

"It's for me," she said, and she undid the bow and paper far less ceremoniously than he had. She revealed a maroon sweater of the same pattern, high neck included, though it looked a little more distressed in terms of its lines. "I tried out my adjustments on this one first, to get the wrinkles out," Hermione said, and grinned, tracing her fingers across the limping patterns. "It isn't too noticeable I think, but I wanted you to have one that wasn't an initial trial." 

"Your generosity overwhelms me," Severus murmured, and while the words themselves had a hint of sarcasm about them, the sincerity of his tone completely obliterated this sense. "You are a talented young witch, and I don't deserve you," he said in a low voice, and there was clearly sadness in his words. 

"I am, and you do," Hermione said flatly, and she leaned towards him and embraced him round his soft shoulders. 

He kissed her cheek, which seemed like his attempt to accept what she was offering him. And to reinforce this, she pressed closer into him, and she relished the sense of calmness they shared. She listened to his breathing, so careful and deliberate, and she exhilarated in the depth of his embrace. He was so warm, and soft, and delicious-smelling, and she loved him so very much. 

"I do have something for you," he said softly, as she listened to the resonance of his pulse. "It's at the castle, though." 

"Oh," Hermione said, and sighed. "That's nice. You thought ahead.: 

"I've been advised never to forget Valentine's day," he responded with a crooked smile. "Lest the wrath of a thousand gorgons come upon me." 

To accentuate this, he burrowed his nose deep into her hair, and she giggled as he held her tighter. 

"I'm impressed," Hermione added, "I only started on these sweaters this week." 

"That's a lot of knitting for a single week, even magically," Severus observed, his voice somewhat muffled by her hair. 

"Well, I didn't exactly have a convenient sexual outlet handy," Hermione said with a teasing lilt in her voice. "I had to do *something* to distract myself." 

"Ah," Severus said, and left the question unasked - *what about Longbottom* - because the answer would obviously be too painful to discuss at the moment. 

"And now, crepes," Severus added quickly, before the pause could get too dark. "I've taken the liberty of ordering ahead, I know you'll enjoy what we receive." 

At that moment, he waved his hand, and the waitress (still at the counter, still engrossed in her magazine) simply waved her wand at the shutters that led to the kitchen. Plates of hot, buttery crepes, dazzling with sugar and syrup and fruit and creme fraiche... oh, Hermione nearly swooned at the sight of so many delectable flavors that arrived before them. 

"I've been so hungry," Severus growled, diving into the nearest one fiercely. "I swear I've lost nearly a stone since going to that ruddy hospital."

"They do feed you, don't they?" asked Hermione with a giggle, and she began to join his efforts in attacking the sweet pancake. 

"Yes, but so little!" grumbled Severus. "They supposedly gave me double rations, but I swear they gave me less than most of the other patients." 

"That's upsetting," agreed Hermione, and she laid a hand on Severus' shoulder. "You haven't wasted away that much, though, my dear."

"Only through sheer force of will," Severus remarked, and there was a hint of humor in his voice. "I knew if I wasted away, you would take great delight in throwing me to the curb." 

"Oh, shush," Hermione said, feeling like that comment was a little too raw. "I would instead take great delight in feeding you up again, my love. If that's what you wanted." 

He cast a sly look at her, and she saw that to some extent, he was testing her. Not in a whimsical, silly way - no, it was the dark, psychologically damaged test of a man who had been betrayed and abandoned a thousand times, and was firmly convinced she was just waiting for an opportunity to be the thousand and first. 

She sighed. "Oh, Severus." 

And she let her hand drop onto his thigh, and she squeezed it gently, reassuringly. 

"You are enough," she said, and she leaned towards him and pressed a kiss against his cheek, which was pregnant with the food he was wolfing down. "You are enough, and you are adequate, and you are a good partner to me, and I love you. Someday I hope you believe it, in your heart of hearts, that I'm not going to pick up and leave on a whim. I want you, with all your flaws and your imperfections and your perfections and strengths. And until the day you believe it, I'm going to just keep telling you this." 

Severus was quiet, and stared at his plate as he chewed, not meeting her unshaking gaze. Then, after an effortful swallow, he said, carefully, "I am under the very grave superstition that the moment that I believe it, you'll tell me it was all a great joke at my expense." 

Hermione nodded, and she offered her hand to him. He took it, and their fingers twined together. 

"You'll just have to learn to trust me when I say, that's not going to happen," she whispered, and with a swift and powerful motion, she leaned forward and pressed a deep kiss into his lips. 

He responded softly, tenderly, earnestly, needingly. Hermione felt her heart pounding in her chest, and she could tell that he was letting himself be distracted by the physical sensations of their joining. He tasted like chocolate - rich creamy remnants of his last bite of crepe lingered around the base of his gums, and she licked it up eagerly. 

Their kisses were profound, and at some point both realized that they were hot and bothered, and Severus' urgent need was making itself known through his trousers, so they quickly made their exit with some take-out boxes and returned back to the castle.


	93. leading and following and also a lion

Severus and Hermione wasted no time in throwing themselves on Severus' bed and losing their clothes in a rush of urgency. 

"You look ravishing, my dear," he growled hungrily as he nipped the edge of her clavicle with a sensuous combination of tongue, lips, and teeth. 

Hermione groaned, her nether regions drawing together, seeking contact and pressure. She didn't respond, but she grabbed Severus' hand and thrust it in the general direction of her pelvis. 

"Give me a moment, impatient vixen - your drawers aren't quite off," Snape added, and he murmured seductively in her ear the further addendum: "It appears as if your thighs are in a battle with the elastic, and the elastic is losing." 

"Oh gods," Hermione breathed, and while she batted at the offending garment in vain, Severus grasped it firmly and dragged it off her roughly. The friction startled her, and she exclaimed, "Ow!" 

Severus froze, and his eyes darted to make contact with hers. 

"Just surprised me, that's all," Hermione whispered, "I'm fine." 

"Are you sure?" he asked, his face very serious and drawn. It was clear as day what he was thinking - he was already sinking with despair at the idea of having hurt her, already worried that rejection was imminent, already seeing his nightmares springing to life before his eyes. 

"If I wasn't, I would tell you," Hermione responded with great confidence, and she took his hand gently. "Now let's get back to it, before I scream in frustration." 

"Oh, trust me, you will only scream for one reason this afternoon," Severus said, a smirk coming to his lips. It was more of a half-smile, actually - there wasn't smugness in it. It was earnest. 

And he went about proving himself to her, without further comment. 

His tongue soon was making its way through her dark channel, and he also massaged her labias warmly with his thick fingers. She bucked and gasped as he flirted with her clit, and she twisted and writhed as he brought her closer and closer, temptingly close but exhaustingly far. 

"Your fat little pussy is giving me a workout," Severus grumbled good-naturedly as he emerged for air. 

"Finish me," Hermione begged, "I need your cock inside me, Severus." 

"No," he said sternly, but there was a glimmer of humor in his eyes that suggested he was just teasing her. "I think you've lost a little bit of weight too, my dear, since I last saw you. What's happened to the pert plumpness of your pubis?" She felt his hand cupping the region in a calculating gesture. His thumb danced like silk across her delicate hairs, and she sharply gasped as the sensation made her entire nervous system sparkle awake. 

"It was nearly as soft and large as a ripe fruit, just waiting for my lips to savor it," Severus murmured, and the patient humor of his voice was delectably maddening. 

"And now, it's come to be nearly overripe - it nearly oozes juice as I squeeze it," he went on, and Hermione gasped, her entire pelvis rocking. 

"Oh, but it's still connected to the tree, I see," Severus murmured, as if he hadn't noticed before that Hermione's pussy was indeed attached to a Hermione. "But while it is quite high up, it is not outside of my reach. It's a happy thing that I'm so tall. I need not find a ladder in order to feast my fill on your sweetness." 

So saying, he slipped down again to devour her with fresh ardour, as if she actually was one of the most delicious fruits he'd ever tasted. 

"Stop teasing me," she moaned at last, "and please just fuck me." 

"Now...my vixen...I'm not sure if you deserve such a thing," Severus said, between licks of her pussy, as if he were trying to get the last drops of flesh out of the inside of an orange. "You haven't kept your body in perfect shape with my extended absence, and I fear I must remedy this before your body deserves the pleasure of my own flesh." 

"Severus," warned Hermione, and she tilted her head up, and her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed. "Now, Severus." 

And the man didn't need to be told twice. "Very well then," he said, throwing his pants to the ground and revealing his bulging erection. "Patience, thy name is not Hermione Granger." 

And suiting the words to the task, he dove into her with the sleek agility of a swimmer, cupping his large stomach in one hand while guiding his cock into her vaginal channel with the other. 

Soon he was situated, and his eyes were bright and shining with pleasure and gratitude. His eyes met Hermione's, and they smiled for the faintest of moments until Hermione clenched her kegels and his face changed in immediate response. 

"I suppose neither is mine," he said, and he nearly looked ready to faint. "Oh gods. Gods." 

She felt the heat of his seed inside her, and he proceeded to remove himself and slump on top of her, gasping. Hermione moaned urgently, and he rolled off her quickly. 

"Sorry, love. Fuck, I wasn't expecting that." 

"Do something," hissed Hermione. 

"Of course," he said, and he twisted around on the bed to where he could stuff his two best fingers inside Hermione's wet, dripping cunt. 

"Oh gods," Hermione squeaked out, and she felt herself coming rapturously as Severus thrust in and out. 

"Talk to me," she gasped, her eyes closed and her pelvic muscles tight and hard. 

"You beautiful creature," he breathed, and she could tell it was a bit of a strain as he was working against the hormonal impulse to fall fast asleep. "I lied, I'm a pathetic creature for saying what I did." He kissed her stomach appreciatively, and continued. "I can't believe how beautiful you are, and how vast and warm and uncontrollably hungry your depths. I'm fascinated by the endlessness of your body, of your hunger, of your beautiful cunt and how it sucks my fingers in so... temptingly. I wish I could be small enough to be sucked in completely by your body, so that I might more completely become one with you, and you might have me become a part of you and your vastness. You are a goddess, Hermione." 

He was speaking in a tense whisper now, and his voice seemed dangerously close to cracking. 

"You are light and darkness in one, beautiful girl, and you draw me in like a moth towards a flame. How can I do anything else but worship you? You have the grace and elegance of a princess, and the comely figure of a greedy kitchen maid, and the wit of a scholar, and the gentleness of a doe." 

The tone of his voice was definitely unusual, and Hermione opened her eyes as his hand began to slow in its strokes. She saw his eyes were focused on her, but also not focused on her... he was losing himself, and Hermione felt an urgent reaction. Without thinking, she clenched her pelvic muscles suddenly and hard, and Severus suddenly came back into focus. 

"My apologies," he said, his face strangely blank, and he began to work doubletime to try and please her. "Let me see. Those crepes we had at breakfast, I think your favorite was the chocolate and cherry one, if I'm not mistaken." 

"Ooh," Hermione moaned, though she felt that she only had one more orgasm in her. Her mood was significantly dampened by Severus' strange digression. 

"I watched the way you licked the caramel off your lips," Severus went on, "And how desperate I was to steal those golden taffy hairs that curled on the corner of your mouth. Your tongue emerging just slightly to welcome in the lost strands of candy. They came willingly to join your pink wet hostess, and soon they will be taken in by your luscious fat cells and used to grow your body ever larger." 

Thus he continued attentively until she motioned for him to stop. 

"Come here," she murmured, "you big sweet licorice." 

"Oh, fine," he responded, and fell into her waiting embrace. She wrapped herself around his flabby thigh, pressing her hot wetness against him. He shuddered in pleasure, and they kissed with fond delectation. 

"I love you," Severus murmured, nestling his head into Hermione's shoulder. "I should say it more often." 

"Perhaps," Hermione tacitly acknowledged, and she kissed his ear and pressed herself closer to him. She let her hands run across the soft rolls of his back fat, and she stroked his skin appreciatively. "I love you, too." 

"You deserve to be told every day, every hour," he went on, clutching her tightly. His voice was strained, and Hermione rocked him slightly in an effort to comfort him. "And I'm trying so hard to believe that this is real. That this isn't some pathetic fantasy. That I might have landed in something that's good. I'm trying so hard to believe this, Hermione." 

"Don't make me your new master, hon," Hermione whispered, and kissed him again. "Believe it, but don't let yourself be consumed by me. Except when we're having a good time," she added with a hint of humor. "You are your own master, my love, and you should only do as you are moved to do." 

"I'm not good at being independent," Severus said, and his voice was fragile. She also felt some hot wetness at her shoulder, and she resumed rocking him. "I put on a very good show of it, but fundamentally I follow. I do not lead. The times I did lead, I was terrible," he added, and she felt his body shake as he held back a sob. "I was a ruddy awful headmaster and everyone hated me. I vowed to never again let myself be in that kind of position. And what did I do but as soon as I try and open myself up to this blasted wizarding world again? I put myself in a place of vulnerability, and I was scorned and hated same as before." 

Then the dam broke, and she felt the large man outright sob on her shoulder. 

"You don't need to be a leader," Hermione assured him, stroking his hair and continuing to rock him. "You don't need to be anything other than what you are. I know you can be anything you want to be, Severus. But first you need to give yourself permission to be what you are." 

She nestled her head against his ear, and whispered, "You are enough. You are enough just as you are. I've told you once, and I'll tell you a thousand times more if you need it. You are enough, you don't need to be anything else." 

In many ways, this was exactly the advice she wanted to hear in her own ears, at this particular moment - for she felt so completely inadequate right now. How on earth could she live up to the promises she'd made Minerva, to "guard our poor boy’s heart against the horrors of life." To "lead him towards happiness" and "towards something that’s worth having." 

She didn't feel confident she could do these things, right now. If only she were a therapist, she might feel more able. 

*But I'm here, and I'm not a therapist, and I'm just going to have to make do with what we've got,* Hermione told herself sensibly. 

And she closed the book on her doubts, so that she might not have to consider them any further. Severus was in so much self-doubt, he was in danger of losing his sense of reality. In light of his uncertainty and tenous grasp on life, it would not do for her to fumble around with her own self-confidence issues. She needed to be certain, so that his reality might not fragment itself, and then she could be the one to lead him towards the things he deserved to have. 

As he cried himself to sleep, and she continued to rock him, she was pleased to realize that he *was* working with her. 

*I would have burned out already if he wasn't making progress,* she told herself, and as she simply sat back and thought about it, he had indeed made remarkable strides. 

Could she imagine the man she'd known as a student, crying? Could she imagine him speaking such solemn and unutterable truths about the very nature of his soul? Berating himself for not having told her more often that he loved her? Could she imagine him on bended knees, worshipping her? 

The idea of this especially, when she tried to reconcile it with the man she remembered from her school days... it seemed downright creepy. And more than a little insane. But the man in her arms right now? She saw it as a symptom of his brokenness, and as a misguided attempt to try and mend himself. If he did all that Goodness desired of him, did he think that Goodness might bless him with some scraps from her table, so that he might have a taste of what Goodness was like? 

No, Hermione needed to teach him that he could provide to himself his own Goodness. He didn't need someone else's guidelines to define his moral compass. He didn't need her to lead him forever. Just now, until he could have a whole and integrated sense of his own essence.

If he wasn't working, if he wasn't *trying,* Hermione knew she wouldn't be experiencing this font of compassion. But she did see how much he was working at bettering himself. Slowly but surely, she saw him piecing together his own sense of self. It was patchwork at this point, but a patchwork quilt is still a quilt, and she knew that it would be beautiful and Good once it was done. As it was, it was beautiful and Good. 

Now, how to teach the teacher that he was on a path, and that she was just leading him until he could find his own way through the dark woods? 

She didn't exactly know, but she realized that honestly, she'd been doing a damn good job so far. 

.........

Hermione eventually fell asleep, and she awoke to a bed that was devoid of a Severus. She was initially a bit worried, but then she realized her arms were tucked carefully around something soft and warm. And it wasn't a kneazle. 

As she blinked awake, she saw that it was a stuffed lion, nearly as large as Hermione herself, with a thick yarn mane and a velveteen coat. It was donned in her red Weasley sweater that she'd knitted, though the sleeves of it had to be rolled up to ensure the lion's paws were not swallowed up whole. 

There also was something cold around the lion's neck, and Hermione felt around until she realized it was a locket. It was shaped like a heart, and was half gold, and half silver. 

"For a fierce Gryffinvixen, who I adore. - S.S." 

It took Hermione a moment to get the dust out of her eyes upon registering her Valentine's gift. It was the sweetest gift she'd ever received, and it actually made her incredibly happy. She always got books as presents, never anything sentimental like this. 

It set a pleasant spring in her step as she got up and went to shower and prepare for the day. She was eager to find Severus and positively dust him with kisses all over his silly fat face while he blushed melodramatically. 

........  
The couple settled back into their normal day-to-day life with little trouble, but Hermione felt like she was a little more attuned to Severus' fragility than before. While his medication was indeed better adjusted, and he seemed to stay out of the depths of depression and the peaks of hypomania, he still had moments where she'd catch him blankly staring out a window, or clicking between the same windows of his computer screen, or even zoning out while in a state of attempted relaxation. 

And Hermione did her best to recognize when Severus got stuck like this, and she'd draw him out of himself as soon as she noticed his mind was gone. Of course she couldn't do this twenty-four seven, given they had schedules where they couldn't be in the same place at once eternally. But it actually was fairly often, since Severus seemed to be even more clingy than usual. His confidence had been deeply sapped by the events of the conference, and he seemed to look to Hermione for reassurance an excessive amount. 

She did her best to find ways to redirect this, but was not always successful.

It was very well that she didn't have Neville hanging around as a distraction, Hermione told herself. This was the thought that she used to 'close the book' on thinking about Neville most often. But every time she dismissed her worries, she knew it was just building up in pages and chapters she wasn't acknowledging.

But it was all right, because Neville hadn't reached out to her. It took two to successfully ignore each other, and she supposed it was best if she didn't try to pry into the messy business that was Neville Longbottom's life, unless he wanted her to. 

As it happened, someone else was to unexpectedly intervene.  
........

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really wanted to make the lion a pink lion for steven universe reasons and if you want that headcanon i deem it OK.


	94. a talk with luna

Hermione received a floo call from an unexpected source one cozy evening in early March as she and Severus snuggled on the couch. 

"Hm, who might that be?" Severus murmured, and he stretched out his arms above him and his legs as well. Hermione patted his thigh - would she ever tire of that simple gesture, so sweet and domestic and appreciative of his present size? - and she eased herself up and she bent down to answer the call. 

"My dear," exclaimed Hermione with surprise as she registered the familiar eccentric face. "Luna, how are you?" 

"I'm fine, Hermione, and how are you?" 

The formal language would have been off-putting if it was anyone but Luna, who was so out-of-it most of the time that it was amazing she even had the capacity to register a simple human being in front of her. Much less that she had the wherewithal to extend human niceties towards said human being. It wouldn't have surprised Hermione if one day, Luna ran up to her and licked her face in lieu of a hello. 

And you know what, Hermione told herself, Luna and her strangeness was a welcome sight, given how wrapped up she and Severus had gotten. While calling it 'cabin fever' was a little extreme, Hermione was craving additional company. That role had once been played by Neville, and now Luna was here to try and fill the void. 

She hoped whatever Luna wanted, that Luna might have some news of how Neville was. Hermione had only glanced him moping about the castle, and he had remained resolutely silent.

"I'm well," Hermione said, automatically mirroring Luna's language before smiling broadly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" 

"I want to know if you're still mad at Neville," said the blonde woman, her eyes completely neutral, not betraying a single stray thought. 

This wasn't at all what Hermione had expected from this conversation - but then again, that was Luna, throwing expectations to the curb. "I'm... I'm not mad with him," Hermione said with a hint of stutter. "Whatever led you to conclude that?" 

"He seems to believe it, is all," Luna responded kindly, like a butterfly that had only graced the edge of a rose petal before gliding back into the air. "He's awfully stuck, Hermione." 

"On what?" Hermione asked, though the answer was obvious. 

Luna knew she knew, and the serious stare she gave was enough to make Hermione withdraw that question. 

"Okay," Hermione said, "so what do you think I should do about it?" 

While her tone asked *what do you want me to do about it,* her word choice was more sincere than she intended. More advice-seeking than frustrated. 

*Dammit, I don't want to care so much,* she cursed to herself. 

"If you'd meet with him," Luna proposed, and in the same breath, she added, "he is doing better, you know." 

"With his cancer?" 

Luna nodded. Her face was sad, but indecipherably so - there was no reason Hermione could read in the woman's face for this sadness. 

"That's good," Hermione said, perhaps too casually. She punctuated it, softened the comment, with a sigh. 

"You are mad at him," Luna said, and then paused. "Or something a little less strong than mad. Irritated?" 

Hermione hated when Luna's emotional intelligence quotient took her by surprise. She hadn't been quite aware of the tension she held even just thinking about Neville, and she wondered about it. 

"He hasn't reached out to me at all since he was in the hospital wing last," Hermione said feebly, though she realized in retrospect that *of course* Neville wasn't about to reach out to her and beg forgiveness for storming off. He'd already played that card, and probably thought that was enough. 

Perhaps this wasn't the most charitable conclusion, but Hermione was intensely and suddenly aware of how much *work* being with Neville really was, and how little she was able to cope with it - and how difficult it was to manage the moody Neville while also managing the bipolar Snape. 

And perhaps she felt like she didn't want to do that work anymore. 

"You know what," Hermione said, her words forcing themselves out of her mouth before she could think, "I am mad at him. You're right. I'm mad at how much he just... takes from me." 

Behind her, she heard Severus get up, and he ambled over, kissed her on the head silently, and padded to the bedroom. She also heard him close the door. 

She acknowledged this, and she felt the heaviness of guarding her words, of parsing them through her Snape filter... it melted away. 

He was a smart man, and he knew when she needed to vent to a girlfriend. He might not like it, but he did accept it, and Hermione was grateful for it immensely in this moment. 

"Severus, poor dear, at least he does *give,*" Hermione went on, "But I just feel so drained with both of them on my plate. And while Sev does have the decency to apologize for being a crabapple, Neville has to be dragged to issue a simple apology. It's exhausting and I don't want to do it anymore. If he bloody wants me so bloody much, he should come to me. It can't always be on my shoulders to come after him and beg him to see reason." 

This seemed to be all that Luna was looking for, and she nodded sagely. "Then this is what I needed to know," Luna said, and she made a gesture as if to ring off without so much as a goodbye. 

"Wait, wait, Luna," Hermione said, and she stopped the other girl by raising her hand. "Please. Tell me, how are you? I haven't been a very good friend keeping up with you." 

"Oh, I know you're wrapped up in a lot," Luna said, and the small smile on her lips suggested that there was something more complicated than she was immediately expressing. "I know you've got a lot of emotional work on your plate already." 

"I wasn't talking about *you,*" Hermione cajoled the other woman. "Come on, Luna. Have you and Neville been..." She trailed off, trying to think of the right way to phrase it. 

"We aren't together, if that's what you mean," Luna said, and her tone was miserable. "But we are in all the ways that matter, I think. The stars tell me that someday I will be a bride, but it is strange that it is so late yet in the day for love to spring eternal." 

"He does love you, you know," Hermione said softly. 

"Ah yes, but at what cost?" Luna responded, and her eyes drifted towards the ceiling. She settled back a bit and contemplated a bit. Hermione let the dreamer dream for a few moments, simply sitting in the moment with her friend. "I just wish he loved me enough to overlook my less ideal qualities the way he does with you, Hermione." 

This was likely not intended to sting - Luna had not a single malicious bone in her body - but Hermione took it heavily. 

"I'm so sorry, you don't deserve that," Hermione said softly. 

"I know he'll get there, somehow," Luna said, and she gave another little smile, reassuring in its beauty. "In fact, there's a garglesnope in my mind, but it's rather a dangerous one." 

"Really?" Hermione asked, and she frowned. She didn't like the riddles Luna played with her fantastic beasts. "Give me a clue?" 

"Just think about Neville's boggart. It's changed a bit since school days," Luna said, and added with a shy smile, "Well, at least the way he gets rid of it has changed." 

"What?" Hermione asked, racking her brains trying to remember what Neville's boggart even was. 

Then it hit her like a sack of potatoes dropped on her head by an errant owl. 

"Oh, right," she said dismally, and sighed. "It was Snape, of course. And he got rid of it by dressing Snape in his grandmother's outfit." 

"Right," Luna said, and there was a cool sadness emanating from her again. "Now, it's a different outfit." 

*Seems like Neville's always had a complicated thing with gender,* Hermione thought to herself. It was a strange coincidence indeed that Neville would end up seriously dating a transgender woman, given the way he'd diffused the power that Snape had on his psyche. Likely any time Neville encountered a boggart since, he'd used the same or a similar tactic - generally once people found a way to send their boggarts packing, people tended to prefer the most quick and reliable method. There had been an academic study on the topic, so she surmised Neville had seen Snape in a dress more than that single time in the classroom with Professor Lupin. 

It was a strange thought, to realize how fucked up Neville likely was beneath his stolid Gryffindor exterior. And it broke her heart, especially to know that she'd done such damage to him. 

But she didn't know what else to say or do. 

"You talk to him a lot?" Hermione asked, and Luna nodded. "Then please, if you'd be so kind as to tell him that I can't be the one to always reach out and try and mend things. I know he did that once, but I'm not chasing after someone who doesn't even give me the time of day when we pass in the halls." 

"He's trying to make a point. I think he believes that you'd come chasing after him when he ignores you, if you felt he mattered." 

With Luna, you could never tell if she was actually citing a conversation she'd had with someone, or if she'd made just a really spot-on guess, and Hermione gave up immediately on trying to puzzle out the matter. 

"I know it's silly," Luna went on, "but I wanted to be sure before I told him so." 

"Be sure of what?" Hermione asked, feeling as if she'd missed a key line somewhere. 

"That you weren't in love with him." 

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but she found that she couldn't argue. Sure, she *loved* Neville, but did she swoon in his arms? Did she feel her heart race when she saw him? Did she see him as essential to her life? 

No, none of those things. And she felt like a cad for having taken such a confused and impressionable young man from under the wing of this beautiful, wise woman. 

"That's right," Hermione said, and she drew some long deep breaths. She felt a little lightheaded from the intensity of the feelings raging in her brain. She felt incredibly guilty, on so many levels. All she wanted right now was to go to cuddle with Severus and cry in his arms about what a self-centered fool she was. 

Neville had laid out a trap for her, she saw now - all he wanted was company in his pain? She should have seen that cry for what it really was - a last-ditch ploy to try and gain her affections. 

Perhaps all of this could clearly be read on her face, or perhaps Luna just was the most subtle legilimancer in all the world. For Luna added, "It isn't your fault, Hermione. He's an adult too, and just because you've been dancing together doesn't mean that you forced him to keep along." 

"I know," Hermione said, and she still cringed. "I feel both like I've been using him... but also like he's been using me." 

"Both can be true," Luna acknowledged, too damn sage for her own damn good. And Hermione frowned. 

"I do feel like as the emotionally more responsible person, I should have seen this for what it was much sooner." 

"Ah, but isn't that the beauty of hindsight?" Luna said. And she laughed prettily, in a way that seemed somewhat forced. But she went on, "I do think that I did my own part to help the situation, what with my difficulty with the mail. I let myself get carried away by my search, and I left him alone much too long. I was also hiding from my own fears of being good enough for him, too, but he seems incapable of hearing that right now." 

Luna then glanced to the floor, and then she looked up at Hermione. 

"You'll hear from him soon enough," said Luna, and she pressed her hand to her lips and she blew a kiss across the flames to Hermione. 

 

"Let's see if we can try and make things right," Hermione said, though she felt obtuse for the fact that she wasn't playing a very major role in this subplot, but she also realized that her own plot was just far broader in scope than this little measly problem. 

"I hope Luna gets what she deserves," Hermione recognized aloud, then they closed the floo fires mutually. And Hermione stumbled into the bedroom and crumbled into bed next to Severus. 

"You weren't that long," Severus said, laying his glasses and book down. "You mind if we just stay here? I've already undressed." 

"Of course, love," Hermione answered, and she squished up behind him and laid an arm across his bare stomach. She kissed the most convenient rolls of back fat, and she snuggled as close to him as she could. 

"I'm glad to hear that you had some time to chat with a friend," Severus said with a small smile, and then he put his spectacles back on, and opened his book to his bookmark. And then Hermione simply fell asleep against him, with beautiful dreams headed her way.


	95. So sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter thematically is in part for J.M.  
> technically dear you shouldn't be reading this because it's not age appropriate.  
> but i figure you might be here anyway because curiosity is a thing you have an abundance of.  
> I love you my dear and we will find a way to connect again when circumstances allow. 
> 
>  
> 
> the music connected to this chapter is directly a message from me to you: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qSLvcJ4I1mw

"What's even the point, Lune?" asked Neville, staring into the darkness. He and Luna were at the gazebo where he and Hermione had first kissed, and he felt a stab of rage in his heart as he remembered it. 

He suppressed the rage, though, through a puff of smoke. 

Luna extended her hand, and Neville gave her the toke without a word. She took a deep inhale of the weed, and she exhaled contentedly, the smoke floating out of her mouth into the darkness of the cold night. 

He expected her to hand it back directly, as he never had seen her smoke before. But to his dismay, she kept rolling the dark little thing over in her fingers with unwarranted delicacy. 

She was so fucking delicate. How could he have known she was born a man? He'd been angry for awhile that he'd been deceived, but that was beginning to fade away. 

Slowly, Neville was beginning to accept Luna's complex backstory. It was so difficult to reconcile with his actual knowledge of her. When she was on her estrogen potions, there wasn't a stray patch of stubble to be found on her baby-soft cheeks. Her breasts were full and plump again - or, well, as plump as Luna's breasts could ever get. Same with her ass - it had filled out just the tiniest bit, and now had a bit of heft, and Neville found himself actually aroused by it. Despite everything. 

It was easier to demonize her when she wasn't sitting in front of him, her long pale hair shining in the moonlight with a fairylike glimmer. It was easier to hate her for deceiving him. It was easier to pretend that she was, actually, a man who had deceived him into falling in love. 

But Luna - cherishable, genuine, eternally understanding Luna - she had just persisted at his side like a thorn in his paw. She'd shown up every day in the hospital wing during his recuperation, even when he had scowled and ignored her. She'd just sit there reading a book upside down like everything was normal, and if he bothered to grunt in pain or trouble himself to go out on the terrace, she'd glance up eagerly like a puppy hoping for a walk. 

Eventually, his loneliness got the better of him, and he began talking with her again. She didn't treat him any different, from what he could tell - though she had changed since leaving England for her expedition. There was something a little more serious in her eyes, when he caught her glance unexpectedly. There was a sense of worry, of consternation, and... perhaps it was fear? 

Oh, who was he kidding, he thought to himself as he sat with her on the steps of the gazebo. Luna was cool as a cucumber, always had been, always would be. She was the most dispassionate creature he'd ever known, and perhaps it was because of this that he found her so fascinating. 

Dammit. He was falling for her again. 

He simultaneously wanted it with all his heart, and yet he struggled because there was something holding him back. Specifically, a bushy-haired Gryffindor girl who had been getting *exceptionally* plump this year. 

And there was also a darker sense of disquiet that plagued him, a disquiet that he scarcely could contemplate, much less voice aloud. 

He hated himself any time his mind brushed past this dark, primal urge in his mind - he hated himself for both being too cowardly to explore it, and also hated himself for having it in the first place. 

Neville didn't like being a coward, but he felt like his moments of true Gryffindor bravery were few and far between. And this sent him into a deeper self-loathing spiral. 

"Why don't you play with the garglesnope?" asked Luna, taking a third breath from the pot and then finally passing it back to the original owner. "It isn't as scary as you think it is." 

"Don't play this fucking game, not right now," Neville mumbled, feeling his fingers tremble. "Say what you mean or don't say anything at all, Lune. It isn't fair how you do this to me every single fucking day." 

"I'm sorry," Luna said after a moment of thoughtful contemplation. "I don't mean to be obtuse." 

"Well, that's exactly what you are," snapped Neville uncharitably. But he added, to soften the blow, "Most of the time it's charming, but you know, after a day of so much being sick all over myself... just give it a rest, would you?" 

"Fair," Luna acknowledged, and she stretched her legs out. Then, she added, hesitantly, "Love, I'm cold?" 

"Here." Neville shrugged off his coat in an unthinkingly generous manner, and draped it over her shoulders. "What were you thinking, coming out here without a coat?" he asked, "I know it's March, but we aren't out of the winter yet." 

"I wasn't thinking," Luna said absently, but as usual, there was an undercurrent of meaning beneath her words that perplexed Neville beyond reason. 

"Well, think more," he grumbled, but he swallowed the rest of his words as Luna leaned into his soft breast, pressing her hands together in a prayerlike position, warming them between her cheek and his non-existent pecs. 

Her hands were dreadfully cold, and he felt a stinging pang of anger at himself for not having noticed before they walked out of the castle. Really, he should take better care of the women in his life, he knew. He certainly was not likely to get many more chances to find love. 

"I'm not ready to talk to Hermione, before you ask me again," he added, his voice containing an edge that was steely and hurt that was thinly-veiled. 

"I didn't bring it up," Luna said innocently, but there was a smirk in her voice, which suggested the topic wasn't far from her mind. 

Neville would have glared at her, but she was well out of eyeshot angle from him, so he contented himself with simply hugging her with one arm a bit too tightly. 

Neither of them said anything more for the next several minutes. The night was clear, and something in the stillness made Neville restless in a strange way; he simultaneously was stuck in one position, but also wanted to flurry like snowflakes falling in a windstorm. 

Finally, Luna stood up, and offered her hand to him to help him up. 

He eased to his feet with trembling limbs, for he was getting chilled. Luna tried to remove Neville's coat and give it back to him. 

"No, I insist," he said, pressing the coat's shoulders more firmly on Luna's frail bones. "I've got a bit of extra insulation that you don't have." 

Luna's eyebrow quirked just a bit, and her lips smiled prettily, as if she were keeping some kind of delightful secret that amused her greatly. "It suits you," she said softly, and added, "You've almost come to look like your old self again." 

"You mean the podgy bloke chasing his frog around the castle instead of doing his homework?" Neville moaned, and Luna giggled. It was perhaps a little bit shrill of a giggle, for her, but then she did seem dreadfully cold as well. 

Gods, you'd never know... to look at her and hear her... 

He found her hand stuffing his hand into one of the coat pockets, ostensibly in the interest of warming him. But as her fingers grazed his own, he found himself automatically holding her hand, and he was so pleased for it. 

He really had missed her, despite all his inner turmoil. Luna was... she was so easy to be with. He didn't have a need to perform for her, she just had this acceptance in her heart that made him feel incredibly undeserving, but he couldn't turn away from her either. He knew she would be his undoing, one way or another. 

Especially when she said something like this:

"I liked that bloke just fine." 

The little smile that came to his lips... it was unexpected, and he was flooded for a single moment by a radiating golden joyfulness, almost like if he'd had felix felicis. She returned the smile with this calm equanimity that made him nearly double over in happiness. 

But this evaporated like water hitting hot pavement. He just felt like something was holding him back, phantom threads that kept him from leaping headfirst into the second part of this important and final love affair. 

One part of it was Hermione, clearly. But the other part? It was the part that he scarcely dared to contemplate. 

"I wish he were still around," Neville said sadly. And his tone conveyed all that he wanted to say. He didn't have to go into detail. Luna understood him in a way that no one ever would, or could. 

Indeed, he felt like he'd lost his innocence. Last year had been so rough on him, and he had hated so much of it. Luna had left, lymphoma had come, Hermione had tried to comfort him, Luna had turned out to have a huge secret... and as Merlin was his witness, he knew if this year was anything like last year, he simply wouldn't survive. 

But he also knew that he couldn't put the burden for all this solely on Luna's shoulders. Much of this was made worse by the demons he kept hidden away in the darkness of his heart, and he knew he needed to do *something* about them. And *soon.* 

These dark things felt like a boil that was rooted deep below the skin - it was growing closer and closer to the surface, but it was a terrifying prospect to exorcise it. There would be so much pain, so much blood, so much pus. And it might not go away the first time, it might require multiple exhausting treatments to get rid of it. 

And he really, really, hated the idea of even exploring the treatment options. But increasingly, he knew that he'd have to face the music sooner or later. Or he'd just end up a bitter lonely old man. 

Hell, speaking of bitter lonely old men...if Snape could change as drastically as he had... certainly Neville could survive such a trifling thing as lancing an emotional boil?

"I wish he were still around, too," Luna responded, interrupting Neville's woolgathering. "I miss him." 

They were standing on the front steps leading into the Great Hall, and she had one hand on the door handle. She looked so pretty, even in his oversized coat that seemed to engulf her in its heaviness. A strand or two of hair fell across her face, and Neville instinctively leaned in to stroke them off her cheek. 

Luna, in a rare moment of misreading the situation, leaned in as well and pressed an urgent kiss upon his lips. 

Oh, Luna's kisses. Neville hadn't noticed how much he missed them, but as he felt her tongue tease the corners of his mouth, he felt weak in the knees for a reason that had nothing to do with ataxia from the chemo. 

He pulled away with a start. "I love you," he blurted out, and he felt his face contorting with unbidden, unexpected tears. "I love you so goddamn much." 

"I love you too," Luna responded, "so goddamn much." 

But she saw that she'd miscalculated. Her eyes searched his for a sign, a solution. But his eyes were blurring, and he felt himself fall to his knees on the cold stone steps. 

"I love you," Neville said, and then added in a cracked voice, "But I also love Hermione." 

"Shh, shh," Luna responded, and she sank down upon the steps to cradle him in her arms. She was surprisingly matronly in the way she commandeered his head against her breast, and she rocked him sweetly. "Of course you do, love. It's quite natural, you know." 

"What the fuck are you on about?" he blubbered, "It's not fucking natural. It's fucking awful is what it is." 

He cried harder. "I'm not fucking natural. That's probably the only reason you like me, isn't it - I'm the fucked up specimen who puts all other humans to shame in his awkwardness and ungainliness. Even my own parents don't recognize me as their child," Neville went on, his filter completely lost to the night. "How could they forget me unless I was so awful that I wasn't worth remembering?" he bemoaned, "They remember each other, to some extent - the healers say they fall in love with each other every day even though they don't remember each other but they *do* in some deeper way. But when I show up, they have no clue, Lune. They have no fucking clue that it's their own flesh and blood sitting in front of them. They just stare at me politely and shake their heads when I leave because they're so confused." 

"Oh love," Luna said, and she pressed a kiss into his dark hair. "I'm so sorry it's like this." 

Neville couldn't get any more words out. He was drawn so deeply into the mires of his despair that even when he took a breath for air, he found himself pulled back under the current before he had enough chance to recuperate. 

Here he was, being the ultimate hypocrite, crying in the arms of a woman he'd scorned so viciously, about his love for another woman, about his pathetic misery regarding his parents. 

He hated himself so viscerally, he wanted to do something blatant to hurt himself, like banging his head on the stone ground until his brains were smeared across the flagstones. 

"Love?" asked Luna with a tender voice. There was a sense of terror in it, and Neville was acutely aware of the fact that he was scaring her. "Are you drowning?" 

Her voice was so calm, but he knew the cadences of her sounds so well that there was no debating the fact. He was terrifying her. 

And he had no idea how to stop it. 

"Yes," was all he could gasp, and he moaned deeply into her firm collarbone. "Yes." 

"Then let's get you a lifeguard, shall we?" Luna suggested in a no-nonsense fashion. "I can't drag you out of this alone." 

"I'm sorry," Neville choked, not able to keep his eyes open for the sheer quantity of tears plaguing him. "I'm so sorry." 

"Don't be," Luna answered calmly. 

So saying, she herself stood up on her feet, and she led the shaky Neville into the castle. 

 

chapter music: "They" by Jem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooooohhhhhhhh peeeppsssssss check it out
> 
> http://growing-fatmolly.tumblr.com/post/167472567055/omg-meta-fanfiction 
> 
> omghgggggggggggggg PFC u are da bomb <3


	96. seventeen

seventeen 

"Can't we just be normal?" Luna asked softly to herself as she stroked Neville's hair. He was so sweet to look at, even with his smoky breath and his jaundiced eyes. 

And she knew, within her heart of hearts, that they couldn't ever be normal. Normalcy was something that had passed both of them by too long ago. There wasn't a way for them to backtrack. But she couldn't help but wish that they could. 

She thought back to that last year, that final year, of school, where Hermione hadn't been anywhere in sight, and it had just been the two of them. She and Neville. And it was only then that Neville had opened his eyes to see the girl, standing there, loving him with all her heart. Luna had been so grateful that he'd finally let her in, if only a little. 

They'd huddled together in the library, hiding from the world in the Restricted Section, plotting secretly against the fascists that threatened their world. They organized Dumbledore's Army again, together - she the cryptologist, he the reluctant visionary. And after a short while, they'd relocated to his bedroom. 

This change charaded under the guise of 'increased security,' but it was where chaste cuddles began to accompany said plotting. This progressed to hungry frottage faster than either of them expected. After one particularly close call - nearly caught on the way back from a DA meeting by the ominous Snape who roamed the halls even more ferociously during his tenure as headmaster (as if it were possible) - they raced back to the bedroom, frantically panting. 

And then without warning, the magic finally happened, and Luna grabbed Neville by his numb gasping face and kissed him desperately. 

This led to another breed of franticness altogether, and Luna soon found herself on top of Neville, and they both were on top of his bed. She was frotting against Neville's trousers, gleefully enjoying the sensation of his hands grasping and twitching on her breasts, feeling him burst with wetness through his pants. 

This all led to more kissing, chaotic and somewhat woozy on Neville's part, but he groped her ass and made her feel so completely and utterly alive that her patronous burst out of her of its own accord. The hare trotted around and frotted against furniture legs, echoing the fever in her loins. 

They'd never come quite so close to sexual contact before, and of course Luna was scared. Potions did wonders for the complexion, but certain elements of her biology were not quite in accordance with the rest of her life. She faked an orgasm of her own, then disappeared in the bathroom to finish it all off. 

Thus began a pattern of intense lust and passion, never quite brought to its logical conclusion in the bedroom. But *very* hot nonetheless. And the hotness began to convert into tenderness, a tenderness of a kind that Luna had never quite felt before except with her father. But that was very different still, for Luna was not attracted to her father, mostly. 

Oh indeed, Luna's long-patient heart finally had claimed the prize it'd been waiting for, all these years: the affections of Neville Longbottom, the adorable cutie that she recognized as a kindred spirit. 

They both were lost children, in a sense. She'd known that all along, from the moment they first sat near each other on the train with Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley. She'd looked him up and down and recognized a man that was broken, too - in exactly a compatible way with her own brokenness. She pretended not to pay attention to him, instead addressing Harry Potter, the one who Ginny Weasley was clearly marking as her own territory. And then she retreated into herself, delighting over the ministrations Neville paid to his little toad, Trevor. She watched him with one eye while the conversation proceeded, and she was immediately and deeply in love. 

She began to collect details over the years of him, giving him the silly name in her mind of Venemous Numbersnatch, which made it pleasant to talk about him in casual conversation without actually talking about him. 

This was a trick her father taught her long ago - things that were difficult to talk about got nonsense names. For a long time, Luna hadn't understood that she'd lost her mother, for the word for 'mother' was transplanted in her mind with 'Pica Fish.' 

It was her father's fault, of course - he couldn't stand to talk about the loss of Luna's mother, and so instead he chose to call her by an obscure species of otter that lived in a particular region of subsaharan Africa. It had been a way of talking about Luna's mother all the time, without ever saying a breath about the tragedy that befell her. 

Luna was a smart girl, and soon after she put together the rest of the pieces. It was how she became so good at reading people, these days. She didn't need to know another person's language to have a conversation. All languages were the same, in her mind - the emotions were the critical component. 

This was how she came to be a very good magizoological thinker, even more brilliant than her father. Though with the plactisity of her semantics, at times she couldn't remember which were the proper names and which were the folkloric idioms she and her father used in their private language. It didn't matter though, because all the estrangement from the rest of the children at school was not important compared to winning the affections of Neville. 

He'd begun to shorten her name to 'Lune,' with a slightly French pronunciation that made her panties twitch. He'd begun to bring her flowers for her hair, which made her giddy with delight. And she'd allowed herself to get used to it, slowly but surely. He'd begun wanting her, needing her, and finding happiness in her company. He began to truly understand her language, which no one had ever done before. 

And it was so good, so pure, so *real* that she imagined, stupidly, that Luna thought: when Hermione returns, he will not have eyes for her anymore. 

But the rational Ravenclaw side of Luna was blind to the emotional spontanaeity of the Gryffindor. The depth of Neville's fascination with the other woman was enough that the moment the bushy-headed Gryffindor landed back in the midst of the battle of Hogwarts... 

Well, Neville might just have defeated a snake with his sword, but he also had sliced off the head of Luna's hopes and dreams that were so tightly encircling him - all with one breathtaking glance towards the brilliant witch who was the true 'gold' of the Golden Trio. 

The pair never was able to regain their footing after Hermione's return. He play-acted the part of diligent boyfriend for a while, but Luna knew he wasn't happy. 

Then her father had an 'accident,' which he did not survive. And he never meant to, Luna knew. Xenophilius had never really lived with both feet on the ground. Indeed, Luna knew that if she hadn't existed, he wouldn't have held on for as long as he did. He missed her mother far too deeply. 

Instead, he'd been holding on just long enough to see his little girl settled safely on the next steps of her journey, tied closely to the one who would see her through the end of her life. Once satisfied, he overdosed on an antidepressant potion that did not combine well with his home-made dandelion wine. He was too smart to do that by accident. He knew every chemical he ever put in his body, and was anal about contraindications. He never allowed her to experiment with potions at all, since that was how Luna's mother died. And if she ever had potions homework to do that was practical in application, Xeno insisted that she follow the instructions exactly, and obtain proper adult supervision any time she was brewing. 

(Incidentally, this was how Luna gained an appreciation of Snape that went beyond his stringent teaching practices. They spent too many silent hours together, him brooding over pitch-black coffee and papers, her stirring one of her typical O-grade potions. She knew he wasn't evil - a man possessed of something sick and evil, sure, but not evil in and of himself. She saw too many crumpled tissues in his wastebasket. A man who hated Muggles would not prefer Kleenex tissue in his private office over a good old-fashioned self-scourgifying handkerchief.) 

It always was strange, to her, the way Xeno was so lax about everything in his parenting, other than her potions-brewing methods. But once she pieced together how her mother died, well, it made sense the way human nature always tended to make sense. Luna understood her father so well that she never resented his obsession towards potions safety. 

But she couldn't tell Neville what she knew about her father's death. Neville didn't love her, there were too many late-night coffees and too many little pointless errands that took him away from her. He even resorted to reading books - and while Neville wasn't as anti-intellectual as Ronald Weasley, Luna knew he didn't exactly enjoy reading for fun. It was a means of escaping *her.* The woman he didn't really want to be with. 

She would have ended it, right then and there - but she couldn't cope with the thought that Xeno's loss was meaningless, caused by a simple mistake that she hadn't been brave enough to correct until it was too late. Thus, Luna decided a retreat was in order. Either distance would make the heart grow fonder, or their love would dissiptate naturally. 

Of course, by this she really meant *Neville's* love. For Luna, in the same vein as her father, was a hopeless romantic who couldn't bear the idea of loving another person. She halfway expected that *she* would be the one who would fade away from some heartbreaking and tragic disease before too long, only attributable to 'a broken heart.' 

It was so curious that Neville was the one who got sick. She reasoned that it must mean he actually did miss her, after all. 

She wasn't stupid enough to assume causality so cavalierly. But she was convinced that most things were not coincidences, and that if a man got sick when you left town, chances are when you came back to town, he'd perk right up again. 

And, well, this seemed to be mostly true. There were confounding variables, to be sure, but the sum of the matter seemed to be that Neville was experiencing more than a bit of broken heart syndrome himself. 

Oh, if only they never had to endure so much at the age of seventeen. Then he might not be so confused. Technically Neville was older than her, but not that much. Only by about six months. She preferred to think of them as the same age, as they were for half of the year - and all this *shit* had culminated when they were both seventeen, anyway. 

It outraged her to think of how their lives had been stolen away from them, and for such little purpose. Luna did a very good job of hiding the fact that she was angry. Like an animal, she focused all her energy on action. She only spoke of her anger when her words would make her actions more effective, like a cat snarling as it pounces. 

So, she looked at Neville, as he lay in his bed, and she stroked his hair. He seemed fast asleep, with little gentle snores coming from his plump little nose. His cheeks were rosy and full, and she was so happy to see how peaceful and content he looked. 

It made her heart break. He used to look like this so much more often. They might have been fighting for their lives, but dammit, she could have sworn they were happy. 

"Couldn't we just go back?" she asked in a whisper, feeling deeply alone as she sat with him. 

If only her father hadn't died in vain. If only Neville could bring himself to let her in, fully and completely. If only she could worm himself inside his heart, and find a place of peace where he could love her...

"Huh?" 

Neville's eyes opened wide, and he blinked at her owlishly. 

"Nothing, dearheart," Luna said softly. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, an act of gentle persuasion. He mumbled and closed his eyes again. 

She felt her heart swell as his hand grasped at her. His gesture was not appeased until she was holding his fingers tightly. 

"Come close to me," she heard him mumble, "You're tired." 

A sudden brightness pierced her heart as he rolled to allow her space, and she lay down next to him with a sense of hope. This hope was so sweet that she felt nearly nauseous from the sugar crash. 

Maybe they could be normal, after all. Maybe they could be what Xeno wanted them to be. Maybe this was the beginning of what they both wanted. 

Maybe. 

 

-"Seventeen" from Heathers the Musical


	97. burned

burned 

............................... content warning, this is about to get cereal. while noncon isn't my thing, this chapter gets as close to noncon as I get. consensual violence ensues. it's pretty cathartic for everyone involved but just giving you, my dear readers, a heads-up so you can skip this chapter if you want. for those who enjoy this sort of thing, well, enjoy! if you don't want to read this chapter, a brief non-graphic summary is provided at the bottom for your convenience .....................................................

 

Neville's heart pounded as he knocked on the door of Snape's flat. 

*I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, you git.* The words flooded Neville's heart in a toxic wave of angst. But it was anticlimactic when the aforementioned former potions professor opened the door. 

Turns out, Hermione wasn't the only person in Hogwarts he was avoiding lately. 

"Looking for Hermione," Neville bit out, looking the older man up and down with a sneer. 

Unflummoxed by Neville's hostility, Severus simply opened the door wider and admitted the Gryffindor. His brow furrowed, but he said nothing. There was something so sad and pathetic about his silence - it almost was as if the man knew exactly how much hatred Neville bore him, and as if the man had no instinct to fight back. 

It enraged Neville even more, somehow, that Snape accepted his anger with such grace. It was like that Muggle folktale, wasn't it, about that pompous pilot and how he turned the other cheek when someone struck him? Wait, that wasn't quite right, but Neville didn't exactly have the brain cells available to sort out the facts from his memory. Instead he fumed into the main room of the flat and stood squarely in front of Hermione. 

Hermione was reading a book and making notes in the margins. Her face lit up as she saw Neville, but fell again as she registered his foul mood. 

"Neville!" 

She attempted to escape the depths of her easy-chair. It was a bit of an ordeal given that her feet were propped up on the sofa, her legs were stiffly supporting her inkpot and book, and her ass seemed to have disappeared into the cushions. Also, she looked a hint larger in the belly than last time he'd seen her, and she got quite out of breath just wiggling her ass into a pre-standing position. 

Snape swooped to save the forgotten ink-pot just before it fell to the ground, and the catch of his breath as he quickly bent over... well, it was strangely satisfying to Neville. It meant that the old blighter was getting too fat to do the daily acrobatics that once had been his trademark. 

He spared no thoughts as to whether or not he was holding a double-standard. Neville was too busy smirking at the old man's ass as it protruded in the air, as full and succulent as a Christmas goose. There even was the hint of something altogether fascinating - a sliver of skin showed at the edge of his shirt, just above the man's arsecrack. 

A motion redirected Neville's eye, and he glanced towards Snape's reddening face. Their eyes briefly met as Severus was bent, in the scant triangle of space formed between Snape's flabby upper arm and his taut, overfull stomach. The older man glared at Neville, then righted himself with a heave. It almost made Neville giggle, to see the once high-and-mighty man taken down to this state of sweaty, groaning, disgusting flesh. This flesh rippled with Snape's upward motion, and he smoothed down the front of his shirt with his spare hand. With his other, he placed the inkpot on the side table within Hermione's easy reach, and looked as if he wanted to sit down. 

Hermione reached to dip her pen into the inkpot, in a gesture that spoke of compulsive habit. Especially considering how she didn't notice the actions of her other limbs. 

"Oh, dear," Hermione gasped, for her elbow had hit a stack of books that were precariously perched on the other arm of her chair. They tumbled to the ground, and Hermione groaned and squirmed in an attempt to get up. 

Severus just raised a reassuring hand to stop her, and patted her soft jumpered shoulder. "Don't trouble yourself," he murmured, and then he crumpled to the ground into a matter-of-fact crouch. 

Once upon a time, this crouch would have looked elegant to Neville. Once upon a time, Neville would have been afraid to see Severus Snape on all fours, as if Snape would morph into a venomous spider animagus. 

But today, all it did was amuse him - for that slight sliver of arse had bloomed into a very unattractive and hairy half-moon. 

It made Neville want to laugh just to see it. Surely this wasn't Severus Snape, the man he'd feared so much of his life, half-heartedly yanking on the waistband of his trousers in a poor attempt to stretch them back to the proper conservative position. The Snape he'd known would never be caught with his trousers down like this. 

Neville couldn't help it. The sight was just too splendid to waste. His hand dove silently into his trouser-pocket and withdrew a warm knut, which he rubbed between his finger and thumb to heat. Then he proceeded to insert delicately at the top of Snape's arse-crack, as one might into a fickle vending-machine. 

The prostrate Slytherin seemed not to notice at first, and Neville kept a snicker in his throat. Hermione, her nose deeply in her book, was nonetheless flooding the conversation with her silly apologies - what was she apologizing for? He wasn't sure, and it didn't matter. So he just made the requisite sounds of Being a Good Listener while watching the coin waggle with Snape's struggles to clean up the books. 

Neville never had been a bully, but perhaps only for lack of opportunity. Here was an opportunity he might test out his mean streak! 

As Snape moved to stand up again, the coin slipped and fell to the floor, and Snape spun around with a hand touching where his wand-holster ought to have been. 

Neville couldn't help it now - he'd scared the big old bastard well and good. Neville began to laugh, at first very sophomorically with snorts and chuckles. But this evolved quickly into a full-throated bleating. 

"What the devil?" asked Snape, but the snarl in his voice was quickly quieted as Neville doubled over from laughter. "I'm glad you think something's funny," Snape muttered, rolling his eyes. He hiked up his trousers again, not seeming to make the connection between his wardrobe dysfunction and Neville's mirth, then proceeded back to sit on the couch, next to Hermione's feet. He raised one questioning eyebrow as Neville buried his face in the back of Hermione's chair to try and quell his laughter. This was enough to get Hermione to glance up at him quizzically as well. 

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked, giving Neville her full attention for the first time during this conversation. 

"Erm, yeah, fine," he said, and he glanced over at Snape one more time. The sight of the other man wasn't quite as funny now, of course. But Snape was staring at Hermione's toes in what seemed to be a *very* particular way. 

It made Neville's face flush in instant jealousy, jealousy he couldn't examine lest the emergent feeling would come out unbidden. 

"I just came to see if you might like to come to dinner, tonight," Neville eeked out. He couldn't break away his focus from Hermione's feet, though - and the sensuous, intentional strokes that Snape lavished upon her toes. 

"Just me?" Hermione asked, and there was a particular type of innocence in her voice. Neville felt like she was laughing at him, somehow. 

"Yes," he hissed, and he glared directly at Snape. Snape continued to be nonplussed. 

Oh, the arrogance! The *cheek* of that slimy fat bastard! How dare he be so complacent! Didn't he know he ought to be kissing Neville's feet for the fact that Neville hadn't murdered him with the same cold blood that Neville's parents had been tortured? 

Oh. 

That wasn't a new thought, but a very old thought, deeply and darkly twisted into Neville's unconscious. It just hadn't come up for a while - but now here it was, clear as day. It scared Neville, particularly given its advent on the same day of Neville's silly joke on the older man. 

Neville didn't like to be caught unawares by his own unconscious. He preferred that he had boxed everyone and everything with whom and with which he interacted. He did not desire to get any closer to the dangerous darkness of the garglesnope Luna had identified in his heart. 

No indeed. No closer. 

"Of course," he reiterated, more blandly this time, and he threw himself on the couch next to Snape. Not remotely touching each other, of course. Neville cuddled his hip into a warm pillow to create a barrier between himself and the other man. 

"Well, that would be nice," Hermione said, and her response was just as bland. "I'm glad to see that you've been able to work out whatever it was you needed to work out, Neville." 

The way she said his name, it made him actually feel angry for some reason. 

"Why," he muttered to himself, "Does she always beat me to it?" 

He had no idea what that meant once he thought back, but either way, he knew something had changed in this room since he was last in it. Hermione felt distant, cold even. And strangely, Neville began to feel a sickening kind of comaderie with her other simpering partner. 

No, wait. Hermione wasn't cold. That wasn't in her nature. Instead, it felt like she was holding a match aloft, and threatening to drop it into the tinder of Neville's heart. 

Strangely, it felt like this was a trap of some kind, though he couldn't tell how. 

The question was, would he let himself be burned by whatever trap was being laid for him? 

He wasn't sure. 

...................

He tried to cuddle the pillow closer to him, but discovered with horror that it actually was Snape's thigh. He'd poorly judged the expanse of the man and his ability to take up more than fifty percent of the couch at a time. That, and the fact that he was wearing black and the couch was dark green, well, that didn't help in this dim light. 

"Merlin! Ask a man to dinner, first, hm?" Snape drawled, withdrawing his leg leisurely from Neville's surprised hands. 

The dimness of the room could scarcely hide Neville's humiliated flush. 

For her part, Hermione didn't seem to notice the room's closeness and the tightly-woundedness of Neville's brain. 

"So as I was saying," Hermione prattled, "I've been worried about you, you know." 

Her eyes met Neville's, but Neville felt like the kindness in her eyes was kept from him, as by a pane of glass. There was something in her that was different, that wasn't as forthcoming with him as she'd always been. 

He wondered if she'd been talking to Luna. He wondered what it would mean if they had been talking. He wondered if he minded. 

"Yeah, you said that," Neville said, sounding more terse than he meant to. So he softened. "I mean, I know it's not exactly easy when a bloke walks away from you every time you see him." 

Hermione looked weary, but appreciative, as if she hadn't been expecting him to understand the difficulty of her position. "That's right, you know. What changed, do you think?" 

*I need to fuck Luna,* Neville thought to himself, and he was shocked by it. 

"Just... I realized there was an obstacle preventing me from moving on," Neville said, and he realized that in his cowardice, he wasn't really acknowledging what that obstacle was. 

The obstacle was in this room, certainly. But whether or not he could bring himself to push it out of the way? He wasn't sure. 

Hermione nodded meaningfully, but she didn't see. 

Well, that wasn't exactly her fault. Neville took an enormous breath in and an enormous breath out. Then he announced:

"Actually, 'Mione, would you mind me and the Professor alone for a moment?" 

Both Hermione and Snape were blatantly startled. It was as if the lights had been turned full-blast, or the room had been flooded with music. 

Instantly, the pressure intensified. Neville felt himself growing hot with it, and he undid the topmost button of his shirt. 

He didn't intend for it to be a suggestive act, but contextually he was dealing with two sexually omnivorous people, one of whom he had an established relationship of a sort. 

And he was asking her to *leave.* 

*I am a bloody fool what do I think this is going to accomplish?* 

Hermione looked almost a touch offended. 

"That's, erm, fine," she said, standing without preamble, stealing away her feet from Snape's attentions and escaping the comfy chair with minimal exertion. She closed her book and laid it on the chair. "Crooks needs some attention, I suppose." 

So saying, she stuffed her feet into her shoes and shuffled out of the flat, leaving the metamours to face each other blankly. 

................

"So." 

Snape never let anyone have the first word if he could help it. It was vaguely helpful now, when Neville was swimming in an ocean of fire and hadn't the first clue how to save himself. 

"So," responded Neville, and he sighed deeply. Then, he turned his head and stared at the ceiling. The ceiling was a beautiful ancient affair, with heavy beams decorated with silver frescoes that shone as if with moonlight. Neville closed his eyes to this ceiling, though, because it just was a painful reminder that he wasn't the one with the upper hand in this conversation. He wasn't in his home territory. Yet here he was, forging ahead with Gryffindor bravado. 

It almost made him proud, except for all of his second-guessing himself. 

Snape had another infuriating habit - a habit of letting people tie their own nooses for themselves in conversation. He wasn't about to give Neville any further help in initiating this conversation that was so long overdue. 

Neville took several deep breaths in and out, and Snape said nothing, merely observing with a clinical eye. 

Finally, the pig-headed courage built up enough for Neville to blurt out:

"Why the *fuck* did you do all that shit to me, arsehole?" 

He expected a number of things to happen now. He expected Snape to lash out defensively, first of all. He expected Snape to remain silent and let Neville hang himself with his own words. He expected Snape to offer him some lame justification that would make Neville seem a fool to remain angry. 

He didn't expect Snape to be *moved* by the question. 

"I suppose this conversation has been a long time coming," Snape said thoughtfully. "It's testament to your bravery that you proposed it. And testament to my cowardice that I did not." 

Neville lowered his head from staring at the ceiling, and he looked at Snape directly. The older man didn't meet his eyes, instead staring ahead towards the fire.

Snape added, sadly, "I told myself that it was kinder to let you take the lead on whether or not you'd want to talk about it. But I realize now that this was a self-serving delusion." 

Neville was stunned, and was even more so by the following statement Snape made: 

"Yet again I have failed to be an adequate adult for you, Mr. Longbottom. Yet again I have behaved in an egregiously irresponsible fashion. Yet again I have done a disservice to you and your family. You have... every right to detest me." 

The other man was staring straight ahead, seemingly not able to make eye contact with Neville. 

To Neville's great surprise, the man leaned forward and retrieved a box of tissues, and took out one to dab carefully at the corner of his eyes. 

*Holy Merlin's balls! was Snape **crying?*** Neville had no clue how to respond to this. It suddenly felt like the ocean of fire in which he was swimming had lost its bottom, and Neville knew if he stopped swimming he would sink endlessly into the burning sea for eternity. 

"Whatever you like to say to me, you have the perfect right to say it," Snape continued. He crumpled the tissue in his hand, and it looked as if he were summoning bravery. "Whatever you would like to do to me, you have the perfect right to do it." 

And he looked directly at Neville. His eyes were forlorn and accepting, like a dog that knew it shouldn't have shit on the floor. He was willing to accept his punishment. 

Neville sat back, almost stupefyed. "I... I hate you," he said, but a lot of the heat had left his body with Snape's simple... apology? No it wasn't strictly speaking an apology, he never once had said 'sorry.' But in some ways this was more profound... an acknowledgement of reality. 

"Don't hold off," Snape said, and there was something fierce in his voice. Almost like a man begging to be whipped. "Give it to me, Mr. Longbottom. Mete out whatever punishment I deserve. Merlin knows I deserve every bit of it, and more than you possibly can come up with." 

The challenge was there, and that made Neville's fingers itch and dance. 

"I want to hit you," Neville said, feeling his voice retreat inside him like a snail inside a shell. 

Snape immediately stood up and outstretched his arms. His eyes were bright and just a little wild, and Neville was amazed at the man's steadiness. "What's stopping you?" Snape asked. 

And so, Neville got himself up, and stood facing Snape. 

The men weren't far off in height, though Snape had the clear advantage in this department as well as in girth (obviously). Neville took a moment to sum up the sight, which Snape correctly interpreted as hesitation. 

"Oh, I understand it isn't fun to hit a boy who isn't fighting," Snape said softly. His eyes were losing focus on the present, and he seemed to be transported back somewhere else. "What would you do if I called her a dirty little Mudblood, eh?" 

He didn't need to specify anything more. Neville gave him a full-throttle punch to the face, almost by instinct.

"Yes," Snape hissed, "So you do like her, don't you? Makes you a little Mudblood-lover." 

"Fuck you," Neville snarled, and in a moment of passion he leaped at Snape, knocking the other man to the ground. Neville tumbled with him, and initially Neville was shocked and worried that Snape might have hit his head to a concussive level. 

But that inherently punchable face came back smirking as bad as ever. "Fuck you, Longbottom. You've already lost your precious little war. Our Dark Lord will wipe out all of your kind from the face of this earth, and we shall dance on the graves of you fools." 

Something transcendent happened with those words. Neville didn't know if Snape was just spilling out the typical Death Eater mumbo-jumbo - or saying something specific, hearkening back to the era of Neville's parents' youth. Which Longbottom was Snape talking to? The glazed-over look in the man's eyes made either just as likely. 

And, well, two decades' worth of rage began to pour out of Neville. 

"No," Neville hissed, between pounding hits to Snape's body, "Fuck you, Snape." 

Suddenly, in a motion that shocked even him, Neville stood up. 

"Turn your arse towards me," Neville commanded, and with a fluid motion, he undid his belt and yanked it through the loops. 

"I accept your judgments, whatever they be," Snape reiterated in a voice that sounded far-away. He obediently turned over - gingerly, for Neville seemed to have done some actual damage - and presented his arse to Neville. 

That ugly little half-moon had come back, and Neville didn't think twice about ripping down Snape's trousers, revealing the whole article in plain sight. 

"You're an ugly piece of *shit*," Neville snarled, and he cast his belt across Snape's bare arse. And he was then surprised at the sound Snape made in response. Neville wasn't expecting a whimper from the other man. 

"You enjoy this, you little arsewipe?" Neville went on, and hit Snape again. Snape's moan in response was a strange, terrifying sound. 

It felt surprisingly good, this whole abusing Snape thing. But it felt like Christmas gifts taken away to see Snape getting some kind of perverse thrill out of the experience. 

"Fuck you, you damn piece of dragon's liver," Neville snarled, and hit Snape harder. "You six ounces of lacewing fly wings. You blanched eggbean root." 

This started a very satisfying train of thought in Neville's mind, and he began to use the belt more ferociously. "You stupid pigwinkle turd. You seven ounces of gadfly antennae."

Snape's moans began to be subverted by what sounded suspiciously like sobs. But Neville wasn't going to give the man the dignity of inquiring. 

Instead, Neville went on, "What cruelty you bring to such innocent creatures both in the classroom and out. Screaming Mandrake-Root, chopped into tiny pieces. You thestral fart. You squished elderberry cedar." 

And on Neville went, until his potions ingredients were becoming more and more outlandish, and less and less factual. And his arms started getting tired from the effort, too. 

"You think you've punished me enough?" demanded Snape from where he trembled on the floor. It was almost comic except it was so sad. The man was collapsed flat on the floor, no longer able to hold his large body up for Neville's amusements. But still he taunted, still he goaded. It was almost as if he knew what was going to happen next, and was eager for it. 

Neville didn't waste any time. 

"Not at all," Neville murmured, appreciative of the sight of Snape's red-streaked arse in front of him. It was so luscious and inviting, and Neville knew exactly what the next steps of this dance were. And as it happened, he was pretty excited, though also scared. 

Neville stripped to reveal his own bare steed. It was hot and heated, and required very little preparation. He completed a quick protective spell for his cock, and then his fingers parted Snape's arsecheeks. 

"Might I have my wand for a moment?" interrupted Snape in what sounded like a neutral tone. Neville, too surprised to argue, looked around him and saw Snape's wand on the coffee table. He put it on the ground and silently rolled it towards Snape's waiting hand. 

"Trust me, it's better this way," Snape said, and tapped his arse a few times. There was a sort of relaxing sound, and Snape rolled his wand under the divan. 

That answered Neville's questions adequately, and without further ado, he ran his fingers up and down Snape's anal channel. Everything was clean, thank the gods. 

"You ready to *really* be punished?" Neville asked, his own fingers shaking as he grasped Snape's arse cheek with his other hand. 

"No!" Snape exclaimed, but as Neville withdrew cautiously, Snape added, "Of course I'm ready, you dunderhead. Am I not dressed down as bare as a Christmas goose for your pleasure?" 

"If you say so," Neville agreed warily, and then with closed eyes and fists that were clenching too tight, Neville slid his member inside Snape's arsehole. 

It was Neville's first actual fuck, and the tightness of Snape's sphincter around his shaft was almost immediately enough for Neville to orgasm. 

But he held on to the hate. He glared at the fat, whimpering mess of a man he was dominating so profoundly, and he slapped the man's jiggling blubber for good measure. 

"You are so fucking ugly," Neville hissed, feeling completely out of his mind but loving it. "You've never deserved anything beautiful in your life." 

"No, I have not," Snape agreed, but it was a little too melancholy, too confessional. Neville needed to find that sweet spot where he was psychologically torturing Snape but only superficially. 

"You're such a sick, masochistic bastard, you just love it when strange men thrust themselves into you, possess you," Neville went on, surprised by his eloquence. 

"Emphasis on bastard," Snape squeaked. 

Squeaked. 

Severus Snape was squeaking, apparently with pleasure (or at least satisfaction) on the floor of his own flat, while Neville Longbottom pretended to rape him. 

Neville almost felt giddy as he regained his location of self. Too many times when he closed his eyes at night, wanting to simply wank himself to sleep, he had envisioned this moment. Punishing Snape the best way he could think how - making Snape accept a Gryffindor snake, against his own will. 

"We won the war, you sick turd," Neville went on, feeling his body quicken its pace. "You didn't win, we did. We won and you lost, and you have to now go crawl into your own little snake burrow and wait for the end of times, because otherwise you'll get yourself fucked in the arse every time you come out." 

"What a travesty," Snape mused idly, "to lose control of your body. To let all caution be thrown to the wind. To be treated in such a callous and uncaring manner." 

"We only give as good as we got," Neville said tersely, and he plunged harder, faster, and deeper than before. 

Snape's muscles clenched and his body rocked with the pain. "Stop," Neville heard him say, but Neville found himself unable to stop. He had entered a state of frenzy, of intensity so unstoppable that Snape was actually not enjoying this anymore. 

And oh, that made Neville feel so very good. 

"I'll stop when I decide to stop," Neville said flatly, superciliously. He had the upper hand, and damned if he wasn't going to enjoy every last moment! 

Snape didn't say anything else, instead Neville heard the other man choking down sobs. 

Because Neville was not inherently cruel, he let himself go after only a few moments more of ramrodding himself up Snape's arse. He collapsed onto the carpet next to the exhausted Snape, who was desperately trying to get a grip on himself. 

The two men lay there next to each other for several silent moments, their heart rates coming down to normal levels and their breathing pace slowing too. And Neville in all of his wisdom, began to realize what exactly had taken place. It hit him like a wall of water slamming down on him from above, and it completely dampened the ocean of fire in which he'd been struggling. But it meant that now he was in a real ocean. And he didn't know what to do with himself there, either. 

He gingerly pulled his trousers on again, trying not to look at the man he'd physically destroyed. And he stood as if to leave. 

"Are you in a rush to go somewhere?" asked Snape between panting breaths. He turned himself over carefully, and Neville saw that the man seemed uncomfortable putting much weight on the center of his arse. At once this made Neville feel slightly accomplished, but it mostly made him feel shame. 

How could he do such a thing to another human being? 

"I..." 

Neville didn't have a good response, but fortunately Snape seemed to know what to do. He gestured for Neville to sit again, and he accio'ed a warm blanket from the bedroom, which he wrapped around Neville's shoulders. 

"You probably need to process," Snape said slowly. "I didn't give you a lot of preparation. I hope this wasn't a disaster for you." 

"No, no," Neville said, trying to decide in his head if this qualified as a 'disaster.' In any way he looked at it, it didn't seem like a disaster. He'd taken out his anger and aggression towards Snape in a heated sexual encounter that Neville was a little nervous and regretful about, but that was different than a disaster. Neville felt like he had overstepped somehow, even when Snape had insisted that he proceed with any and all of his plans and desires. 

"I'm... I'm fine," Neville added, and he managed a sad smile. "I still hate you, you know." 

"Of course you do," Snape answered, and in a strange response, he offered Neville his hand. "That never needs to change, Mr. Longbottom. But I hope that this experience was... conducive to your own happiness. I know our tension has made other relationships... more challenging." 

Understatement of the year, that one. 

Neville accepted Snape's hand carefully, as if he expected a mousetrap to enclose upon him the moment he did. But nothing happened, other than Snape loosely holding his hand, trying to be generous and warm, Neville thought. 

And then, Neville began to cry. He wasn't expecting it - it just began to flow out of him like a rainstorm. He curled himself up deeper in the blanket, and let go of Snape's hand to burrow himself more completely in the softness. 

The blanket smelled of Hermione, and this made Neville cry even more. 

"Do you wish to be held?" asked Snape, and he sounded just as uncomfortable as Neville felt. Perhaps because of this - or perhaps just because of necessity - Neville leaned towards the large, squishy man and let Snape's arm drape around him in n attempt at comfort. 

"Shh, shh, you're all right," Snape said softly, in a voice that scarcely sounded like the potions master of old. "It's all right. You're fine. Get it all out. Let it go." 

They sat there for many minutes, in the dimming darkness of the firelight, until Neville cried himself to sleep. 

 

 

 

-music: i got burned by the bamboos 

.................  
summary: Neville comes to make things right with Hermione, but his head is in a different space than his heart. He asks spontaneously to have a private conversation with Snape, where Snape forthrightly acknowledges the injustice of the abuse he heaped on Neville. He invites Neville to punish him in whatever way Neville wishes. Neville beats Snape up, and uses a belt on him, but discovers that Snape is perversely turned on by this. He punishes Snape through consensual 'rape' behavior and language and then struggles to deal, but Snape provides surprisingly good aftercare.


	98. goodbye garglesnope

Neville opened his eyes to the sight of an unfamiliar bedroom. Sunlight streamed gaily through the windows that reached all the way to the ceiling, in a much more elegant state of affairs than his little corner bedroom.

He was surprised to hear snoring at his side, and he turned over and saw with surprise that Hermione was snuggled next to him. At least he assumed it was her. The figure was right, as well as the bushy hair, but she wasn’t facing him, and instead he was privy to the sight of her elegant rounded shoulders as she breathed in and out.

Neville, bleary eyed, admired the sight, and then he sat up slowly, feeling a pit of anger in his stomach though he didn’t know why. He looked at Hermione to see if she stirred, and saw that she was still sleeping peacefully. But on the other side of her lay Snape, snoring in gentle concert with Hermione.

And at the sight of the man, awful memories began to tumble back into Neville’s mind, and he had strange flashes of insight the nearly made him gag. 

Evidence of their not-very-fighty fight was on Snape’s countenance, in the form of a bloody nose as well as many scratches. These were tidied up with antibacterial oil and plaster, but they clearly were still fresh. 

Bruises were just beginning to emerge on Snape’s face, and Neville was flooded with guilt and self reproach. Even though his own hands were bruised and bloody, and tainted by the same astringent salve. 

How did he let this happen? How did he let himself get so out of control of himself? How did he come to be so... batty?

Neville never planned to pop his anal cherry with the sour old wanker, much less ever enter any kind of gay experience with the gutless git. But somehow that’s what had happened. And Neville wished it had just been one more gory, unfulfilled fantasy that left him retching the next morning in the shower. Instead, it seemed that this was one fulfilled fantasy that would leave him retching in the shower. 

He couldn’t stand to remember a single instant more of his depressing escapade, so he turned away and curled up against Hermione, coating her backside with himself like hazelnut spread across a fine brioche. He figured, what the hell, clearly if they were in bed together, she probably didn’t mind if he snuggled against her. Even if she was snuggling Snape at the time. 

No prizes for guessing - which one had most completely stolen her heart? The sneaky Slytherin so obviously had it in the bag. 

Trying to ignore this painful reality, Neville fitfully closed his eyes, Neville couldn’t exactly turn off his consciousness. The sound of the two other sleepers made his heart bleed and his eyes tear up a little. 

So, he sat up again, and tried to piece together what exactly it was that was making him feel so bad. The answers lay spilled across the pillows, in a thousand jagged little pieces that he needed to put together. 

One piece was the way they cleaved so closely to each other, with their pudgy legs twined together on top of the blanket like two varieties of rose vines. Another: the way their labored sleepy breaths were slightly out of sync, punctuated by gentle snores. Yet another: the way that Hermione’s hand rested on Snape’s distended stomach in such a fond and affectionate manner, and yet another piece was the way he warmly held her hand there.

He began to see the complete picture too quickly, and he felt like scattering the puzzle's pieces in frustration. Snape and Hermione, they embraced each other - all of each other, every little last bit. That was the secret they shared. That was the whole that all these parts made up. 

Knowing the full picture didn't help, of course. It made Neville feel even more alone and forlorn.

Moreover, he felt old, and to look at the strange couple with whom he lay, he felt even older than them. They had a spirit of joy with each others' company that seemed so dramatically unattainable to him. The sight of it pressed against his heart like a noxious brew waiting to be spilled.

He tried to avert his gaze, to distract himself, but the sight was too goddamn beautiful to turn from. 

“Why didn’t you ever like me?” Neville mused aloud, his voice catching against the rough edges of his parched throat. He wasn’t sure who he was asking -  
the question applied equally to both Hermione and Snape, to various degrees - but either way, he wasn’t expecting a response.

“I wish I had an answer deserving of you,” Snape rumbled in a low voice. “At least take comfort, if you can, in the fact that it was never personal.”

Neville's eyes bounced immediately to Snape's face, which had achieved a silent wakefulness amidst Neville's woolgathering. Now, in the early morning light, their gazes met. It felt almost dreamlike, the quality of the conversation. Particularly when Snape went on, conversationally, “I like you now, for what little that’s worth.” 

It was as if he'd announced there'd be clouds and fog today on their Scottish moor. It was the truth, Neville knew, but he didn't have to like it. 

“Pft,” Neville responded, and threw back his head contemptuously. He wasn’t sure what he was dismissing, per se - Snape’s sentiment or the amount it was ‘worth.’ Either or. What did it matter, anyhow. 

They sat in silence for a long time, and Snape closed his eyes. The silence went to the point that Neville thought Snape must have gone back to sleep, and in fact Neville was considering the possibility himself. Then Snape said, not moving a muscle, “I hope it was correct, not to take you back to your room. Hermione thought you wouldn’t want to be alone just yet.”

*But I have Luna,* Neville thought, then realized neither would have known to draw such a conclusion. 

"No, that was quite correct," he answered, without elaborating. And he fell silent.

They remained present together without saying anything else. There was too much sensitivity, too much raw emotion there. If either said anything, Neville thought, the chance was high that they'd slip and fall into the all-encompassing blackness. So they balanced there, perched on their respective rocks, staring across the chasm of twenty years of knowing and hating each other. 

The previous night had proven how unsafe they were together, when left unattended. Neville found it painful to exist in the same space with Snape right now. They were lifelong enemies of a sort, and here they were trying to create something that bordered on neutral territory. It was laughable, in Neville's opinion, and foolhardy. There was so little that they could accomplish together, ever. There wasn't a point. 

There wasn’t one thing they could do together, he knew. They couldn’t come together for the sake of the common good. They had barely been civil to one another while both prioritizing the heart of the same beautiful witch. In this way, love had drawn them closer together than they ever wanted to be, and even that hadn't been enough for them to see past their differences.

*We were doomed from the start,* he suddenly realized. Hermione was never available, was never his to win. She'd been exactly what she'd said on the tin, right from the start - she wanted to help Neville not feel so goddamned *alone.* 

Neville just hadn't been willing to hear her, and he felt like a stupid git for ever thinking he had a chance with her.

And what was even more stupid? Suddenly, whatever shining torch he'd been keeping in his heart for Hermione, it had been extinguished. Whatever it was that had been keeping him there, lusting after Hermione so fervently, it wasn’t there anymore. 

He felt a kind of disillusionment as he sat there with Snape, the two of them staring up into the darkness of the shadows created by the rising sun. They were both too stubborn in their pride, too arrogant. Neither of them was willing to give up a thing in this fight, but Neville finally knew that the flight was long over. Snape, in his perpetual wheel of traumatic vigilance, was stuck thinking that there was fight in Neville. But there wasn't. 

Snape had thoroughly won, and Neville realized that he was fine with that. 

He was not actually interested in loving Hermione the same way anymore. It was so strange, the realization that he did not want to possess her, to live with her and protect her and take care of her. But as he reflected on it, he knew that this was a foregone conclusion. She never really saw him as an equal with whom she could actually *share* life. He saw that now, and while it scared him, it also made him feel a little bit more free. 

Because if Hermione didn't want him, then that meant he wasn’t waiting for something he couldn’t have. Instead he could turn over his heart enthusiastically and unabashedly to Luna, for she did not think of him as something to be regarded with pity. She did not stress over his pains in the same overeager way that Hermione did. Instead Luna had a way of sensitizing him to his own strengths. Luna always made him feel adequate. 

In comparison, Hermione, when she granted him her time and attention, it felt like she treated him as a pity case. And it was awful feeling to realize that he was being treated as a pity case. He wanted so badly to be the subject of someone who was enamored with him. 

And he realized that he had been so cruel in ignoring the way Luna looked at him, listened to him, felt him, and breathed with him in a way Hermine he never could. Hermione could do it with Snape, for some strange reason, possibly because he echoed back to her the things that she wished she had refined more in her own self. 

But Hermione just didn’t appreciate Neville's inherent *goodness.* And Luna? She did. There was such sweetness to the way that Luna cared for him, in every way: no matter what the subject of his distress, Luna was there at his side, not pretending at caring. She was the real article. And Neville hated himself for neglecting her for so long.

But as it happened, he also realized that other darker obstacle he been feeling, that *garglesnope,* it was gone now. He wasn’t sure what it had been exactly, but he strongly suspected it had to do something with fucking Snape somehow. 

But whatever it was, it’d been cleared. And like a demon that had been processing him, it’s simply had vanished. 

Now Neville’s heart was full, and he knew what he must do with that fullness. He must lay down in contrition in front of Luna, and beg for forgiveness for losing sight of the way that she loved him. He was no longer jealous of Snape. He felt sad mostly for Hermione, that she could be so stuck on such a sullen and ungracious man she did not deserve. 

If anyone could deserve Severus Snape, Hermione Granger was the least likely to. 

But at least she seemed to appreciate Snape, and after this whole experience, Neville actually did too, just a little bit. He'd never expected to admit such a thing to himself. 

It wasn’t an easy admission to make, but somehow his contempt for the former potions master had in fact toned down just a tiny bit. 

Now Neville loathed Snape to a slightly lesser degree, and indeed found humor in the sight of the man that he never been able to muster before. 

And so, as all of this came together in Neville's mind, he came to a surprising decision. Instead of going back to sleep, and waiting for Hermione to wake up and exclaim over him and make him feel things that he didn’t want to feel, Neville got up, and walked and put on his trousers from where they lay on the floor. Slowly, he put on his belt, the little clang of metal on metal sounded disturbingly loud in the otherwise quiet room. 

Once assembled, he checked in the long mirror to make sure that everything on his person was tidy and neat. Then he made his way to the bedroom door. As he went, he heard Snape call, sotto voce, "If you need to do this again, Longbottom, let me know. Happy to serve as your punching-bag, anytime." 

Neville returned the comment with a little smirk of his own, and he left the room. As he left Snape's flat, he felt stronger and prouder than he’d ever felt before, other than that day that he had destroyed Voldemort's snake.

.........................................

 

The next morning Hermione stumbled into the kitchen, shaking her head at the side of Snape and his cut up face. 

"You look a fright," she announced, and seated herself clumsily at the breakfast table. 

"Well that’s a relief," said Severus with a sly voice. "Back to my old self, I see." 

"Oh shush," Hermione answered, and she gestured for him to come over, and he did so. He leaned just a little bit forward, and she stretched a little bit upward, and there in the middle she kissed his cheek tenderly. The little self-satisfied smirk that came to his face did nothing to wash away the glow of Snape's pretty red cheeks, which were so rosy from the kitchen bustling and coffee sipping in which she'd caught him. 

"I will never understand boys and their testosterone," she added, as he poured her coffee with a flourish. "Also, love, you're bleeding a little bit." 

"Nothing I don’t deserve," Severus answered, but he touched at his face with one careful finger before going and washing his hands in the sink. 

"When will we stop talking about what you do or do not deserve?" asked Hermione with flirtatious exasperation. "You get what you get, so accept it. Stop fiddling around with morality in that big old brain of yours, you know doesn’t get you anywhere." 

"It may not get me anywhere," he acknowledged, placing coffee and creamer near her mug, "But somehow I think that I’ve been doing something right." 

"Hm," Hermione responded thoughtfully, and there was a glimmer in her eye. "What makes you think you've been doing something right?" 

Severus got a predatory gleam in his own eyes, and he slowly, seductively murmured, "The fact that you beg to suck my balls, you little minx." 

"You're such a selfish jerk!" Hermione bristled, and she swatted him playfully on the butt. 

Snape scarcely got his tender area away from her in time. "Oof. Witch, be careful with a man's arse the day after he gets revenge-fucked by your ex-lover, would you?" 

"Okay, I take that back," Hermione said with a laugh, but that laugh was just a little less playful than before. She stood up, and approached Severus from behind as he stirred something warm and sizzling in a pan. "Just so long as we don’t go through another existential crisis," she said earnestly, sliding her arms around his delightfully thick middle, "you can do whatever the hell you want with your morality, I’m not stopping you." 

Severus seemed to take this as a challenge, and he side-stepped away from the stove and scooped up Hermione in his arms, and pressed her tightly against the wall. It was such a strong, swift motion she scarcely noticed it coming. 

"Could you even stop me, if you tried?" he whispered in her ear, and she giggled and then shrieked as he placed his lips on her jugular vein and nipped at it with just the faintest hint of teeth. 

"I doubt I could," said Hermione, and she responded in kind. 

"Gods," begged Severus as her mouth took its turn on his bare neck, "Are you sure you're my witch?" 

"All yours," Hermione said, and let her rosebud mouth turn sweeter on his cheek. "All yours." 

This became a very pleasant snogging session, until Severus' busted lip caught on Hermione's teeth, and he began to bleed. 

"Shite," he cursed under his breath, and taped up he wound again with a quick scabbing spell. He added, with a darker Scottish accent, "Are you sure you're not a vampire, lass?" 

"Last I checked, good sir," Hermione answered coquettishly, "but you might need to check again." 

"This is hot," Severus said, and suddenly remembered the eggs he was browning. "And these are a bit overdone themselves." 

He doled out half the pan to them each, and they collapsed into their toast and scramble, their eyes bright and catching each others' glances all the while. Their feet carefully crept together underneath the table, and Hermione's striped socks nestled against the tops of Sev's soft leather loafers. 

And then Hermione had to go and spoil it all by saying stupid like: "So you fucked Neville, but I still don't understand *why.*" 

Severus grumbled and stuffed a forkful into his mouth, swallowed in his own good time, and said, "Do you mind?" 

"Not really," Hermione said, and she added, "Just curious."

She could tell even then that she was in for a lecture. 

"Hermione," Severus said, not meeting her eyes, "There's three different ways this conversation could go. The first way would be: you could peck at me like you've been doing since last night, trying to compile molecular clues from which you could draw conclusions. This first way ends with conclusions I will neither confirm nor deny, and also with Irritated Snape." 

Hermione sighed. Of course there were never any simple answers with Severus. 

"The first way, you see," Snape went on, "is less than satisfactory for both of us. The second way," he continued patiently, ignoring Hermione's frantic question-asking impulse stir in her eyes, "entails you pretending not to be interested in the hopes that somehow I come out and start talking about it, at which time you'll feel entitled to ask questions. This way ends much the same way, except you probably will see me sob like a banshee, which I don't think either of us enjoys." 

Hermione found herself 'putting away' the numerous questions running through her head. This was registered by Snape and acknowledged with a fraction of a smile. "And the third way is the way I would much prefer, which is for us to continue this conversation in a year or three, and in the meantime let me battle it out with myself." 

"I think you know my opinions on that," Hermione grumbled, but to be fair, this opinion was somewhat self-serving. 

"And I think you know my opinions on your opinions on that," Snape responded evenly, and he extended his hand across the table. "We have so much to talk about, my dear," he said, and there was such sincerity in his voice. "Believe me, if I had anything worth telling you now, I would tell it to you. But I'm still in the midst of drawing my own conclusions and finding out what it all meant. I like to be certain about these things, not waffle on with half-baked opinions." 

Hermione groaned and laid her head upon the table dramatically.

"Oh, buck up, you know I don't mean that in a derogatory way," Severus said with a chuckle, and he patted Hermione's hand. "It's a different mind I have, is all." 

"Fine," Hermione groused, and she stood up, scooped the rest of her plate onto Severus', and kissed him atop his head. "I'm just grumpy because yesterday you trapped me outside without my book. I stood outside listening to you moan and fuss while I sat at your door like a well-trained pup trying not to soil the carpet." 

Snape urgently glanced up at her. "You shouldn't have heard anything," he said softly, and Hermione giggled. 

"Of course I didn't. Your wards were as stable as ever. I'm just teasing." 

"Mind that you're right," Severus responded, and he proceeded to finish off the breakfast with efficiency. 

Afterwards, as they relocated to the couch for a lazy Sunday morning, Hermione noticed Severus checking his wards, and she knew it was 'just to be on the safe side.' 

And he caught her noticing, and she just kissed him on the cheek approvingly, without a word exchanged between them both. 

So quickly, they had become integral in each others' lives. To see them in their native habitat, you'd never guess their relationship had been less than a full year.


	99. spring equinox at plopp's

The spring equinox - March 20, 2004. Severus and Hermione stood in the entryway of a massive mansion belonging to Mr. Graham Plopp. The flirtatious birdsong of flutes and string instruments carried through the hall, and a uniformed servant stood ready to brush off the floo dust and to take their coats. 

Both Hermione and Severus were under heavy glamor charms; they both were silver-blonde as Malfoys with tightly curled hair. They'd both lightened their skin also, and wore clothes completely out of their usual pallette. 

Snape was wearing the decorations of a French auror, and used enough cosmetic charms to alarm a stripper. He'd put special attention towards his nose, in such a manner that Hermione was suspicious that this wasn't his first time playing with his appearance in the mirror. 

His cheeks and lips were artificially rosy, his eyes a bright sky-blue, and he boasted a mole and silky white mustache to complete the picture. His hair was as frizzy and bushy as Hermione's typically was, which he found entirely too entertaining for Hermione's pleasure. 

Hermione's hair was the perfect picture of a 18th-century dutchess; it had taken her houselves around two hours to put the massive mountain of spirals into place. But it did look sufficiently magnificent to 'sweep those stodgy old purebloods off their feet,' as Severus put it. That, and especially the tightly corseted gilded outfit that truly did her sumptuous breasts justice.

With an air of boredom, Severus provided his card to a servant who stood at the entryway, and the servant loudly announced to the gathering:

"Lasalle Rosier, and his wife, Lilianne!" 

"Oh, Monsieur Lesalle, how good it is to see you!" said a pretty little elderly witch who curtseyed deeply for him. "It has been such an age." 

"Enchante, Madame Burke," Severus said, bending down and kissing the lady's outstretched hand. He lingered over it in a familiar display that Severus had used on Hermione several dozen times, admiring her aged fingers and then letting go reluctantly. "Once I have... as you say, 'made the rounds,' I hope you will save a dance for me." 

"Indubitably," said the little woman, who seemed so eager that she was wont to topple over. A bevy of granddaughters propped her up carefully, and at least one of them blushed a little bit at the sight of the costumed Severus. 

Hermione noticed him give a lingering look towards one of them in particular, a well-apportioned maid of around thirty who wore a wedding ring around her neck on a thin silver chain. Her eyes and Severus' met, and then she glanced down and fanned herself, pretending not to pay him attention. 

"Slept with her?" Hermione whispered through legilimancy. 

"Jealous, are we?" Severus responded, and added, "But to answer: no, not her. She was very unhappily married, though, and cried quite a bit on Lasalle's shoulder over the years. I can only say how pleased I am her husband did not survive the Battle of Hogwarts." 

It was so interesting to Hermione how well Severus compartmentalized his role. There was so much similarity between Severus' natural grace and Lasalle's elegant posturing, it was impossible to really see him as a different person when she knew who he was. 

But then again, clothes make the man in many ways, and Severus was good at wearing another wizard's robes like they were his own. He was just the flesh and meat of the character that was hanging in his closet. 

Severus took Hermione's arm, and they swept through the ballroom, gliding as smoothly as if they were on ice. Here and there, someone touched Severus' shoulder and welcomed him to the party, recognizing him from past events. 

"Ah, Monsieur Rosier! It has been so long since we saw your face." 

"Business has kept us from touring England for far too long," Severus smoothly would reply, "Also, we wanted to be sure your beastly little war was over. We've had enough revolutions in France to know that us aristocratic-types must keep far away from such dreadful things. Poor cousin Evan, such a shame to have lost him the first time around. His poor mother was in tears at just the suggestion of us coming to visit for the equinox! Can you imagine!" 

"So true!" the person would laugh painfully, and proceed to ask, "And this is your wife, I presume? The one I have heard of for such a long time?" 

"Indeed, this is my lovely Lili," Severus would answer, and he would add generously, "She is indeed my lovely wife. We've been married for just over twenty years now, can you believe it?" 

And while of course this wasn't true for Severus and Hermione, Hermione could tell that Severus was taking an immense amount of pride of introducing her as his wife. 

It made her stomach flutter a little to watch as he made eye contact, his smile and eyes soft as he gazed at her. He was so goddamn *proud* of her, and so eager to show her off. It was a good feeling - almost good enough that Hermione didn't notice that both Lasalle and Lili started with L, and had two syllables apiece. And, well, Lilianne was a French name that shared an awful amount of similarity with Lily... especially when shortened. 

Hermione hadn't noticed the tell until Severus began to introduce her around the party, but after a third or fourth time, she pulled him aside. 

"Call me Anne for short, or Lilianne," she whispered directly into his mind, "Not Lili. It makes me feel like a second-class citizen." 

Severus seemed surprised, but also ashamed. "I can't believe what I've been doing," he responded, turning his face down. "I knew it was foolish to bring Lasalle out of retirement." 

"That's not what I'm saying," Hermione responded, "I know this character is almost as old as I am, okay? But yeah, I really don't like being called Lily. No matter how sexy your French accent when you say it." 

That was the problem with talking through legilimency - her stern tone was undermined by a lack of filter. 

Severus' face crinkled in an adorable lopsided smirk, and he dove in to kiss her tenderly. 

"My beautiful sweetheart," he said aloud, but in French. "Puis-je dancer avec moi?" (Would you dance with me?) 

Hermione nodded, and he took her properly in his arms and together they joined the others on the dance floor for a slow waltz. 

The wonderful thing about fancy ballroom gowns was the way dancing made them shimmer and shine in the lights of the chandeliers. Hermione felt practically like a princess as Severus led her in the simple, precise steps, with an occassional flourish or twirl as the music demanded. She was wearing the softest dancing shoes. The tight stockings that ran up and down her legs made her feel swollen with desire despite the seriousness of their mission. 

She felt like a doll in his arms - beautiful and agile, and completely malleable to his will. The way his blue eyes stared into hers, it was distinctly like his usual self. He couldn't hide that depth of passion, of urgency, of need, of intimacy. He twirled her with a half-smile, then drew her close with a possessive smirk. Hermione's hand rested on his soft shoulder, and in his plump hand. 

And as the pace picked up, Severus' adipose jiggled delightfully. It was well constrained in his auror's uniform, and to place a finger on his stomach felt like pressing into a swollen sausage. 

He enjoyed the sights too, and at one pause in the music, he leaned in and licked the cleavage between her pert breasts, as if there were honey there impossible to resist. 

Hermione took the moment to fan herself with her dainty lace fan, and laid an intense kiss on Severus' cheek. 

"You horny lad," she chided gently, and he groaned. 

"Always," Severus whispered in her ear, and his hands slipped down to her waist and pulled her close to him. She felt the hint of a bulge hardening in his trousers, and she squeezed his squishy love-handle appreciatively. 

But the increasing pace of the dance left them both out of breath and gasping along the sideboard before too long. Severus didn't seem to have the energy of that magical night back at Hogwarts, but clearly his mind was elsewhere. Or at least, caught between sexual lust and the job he was assigned to complete

"Let the young folk have their fun," Severus mused ironically, breathing heavily, placing one hand over his heart to steady it. 

"The music is beautiful, but fast," agreed Hermione, gazing over the assembly to locate refreshments. 

Severus interrupted this as he laid a precise, desperate kiss on her cheek. 

"You smell very delicious," he added as he withdrew, and then suspiciously, he leaned in again. 

And then he took a nibble of her earring - which was a chocolate biscuit. 

"You minx," he said with another little smile. "Edible earrings. You really want to tease me, don't you?" 

"I can't help it if you think my jewelry is delectable," Hermione cooed, and she leaned into him for a close embrace. He smelled very good himself, though unusual - the scent he wore was a rich, cloying cologne worn in excess. It was almost a suffocating scent of roses, leather, and cinnamon, but it did suit his character perfectly. It was, actually, quite a Gryffindor type smell. It made Hermione wonder what he'd been thinking when he chose it. 

His overall softness was not hidden at all, which Hermione also found interesting. No one was making comments about his weight, which made it seem as if his largeness was almost... expected. 

As she thought about it, she realized he hadn't strained over taking out the costume. It occurred to her that perhaps this character was one who was, in original design, quite rotund. 

The idea of the skin-and-bones Severus donning what was effectively a fat-suit for his military spy activities? It was a ridiculously hot scenario. Hermione loved the images that were flashing in her head. 

"My love, I will fetch us some refreshments," Severus said with his very posh accent, "Rest here, if you like." 

He gestured to an empty chaise. Occupying a chair directly next to the chaise was a man that Hermione recognized as Graham Plopp. He looked nervous as he scanned over the crowd, as if he were looking for someone. 

"Ah, I've never met you before," said Graham as Hermione settled near him. "You, madamoiselle, are the wife of Monsieur Rosier, I gather?" 

"Indeed," Hermione said, extending her hand, and she added, "Lilianne. It is a pleasure." 

"The pleasure is all mine," Graham said, and kissed her hand prefunctorily. "Graham Plopp. I bid you welcome to the festivities." He clearly was uninterested in her, but made the effort in order to be the gracious host. "Where has your husband got himself to?"

"Fetching refreshments," Hermione said prettily. "It is so nice to come to England. I have not come here since I was a little girl." 

"Ah, yes, such a shame," Graham responded. His appearance remained abstracted, and he glanced at his watch worriedly. "I've known your husband such a long time, my dear. He always talked so highly of you. His heart has never wandered, that is for certain. No matter how widespread his travels." 

Hermione supposed this was Graham's way of saying the character of Lasalle was at least constant, even if flirtatious. Of assuring her that her husband of twenty-odd years was not a philanderer. 

"I'm so glad to hear that," Hermione responded, feeling a little put on the spot. Her mind went back to the prepared backstory as discussed by her and Severus extensively prior to this event. "The little ones are all in school, now, so I am no longer the constant keeper of the home," she explained. "It's so nice to travel with Lasalle, to see the world through his eyes. He's spoiling me silly this whole visit. Now tell me, What should I make sure to see while I am here?" 

"What shouldn't you see, my dear?" asked Severus, returning with two glasses of bubbling elven wine, and a generous plate of biscuits and cheeses. "Graham. Good to see you, monsieur. I trust you and the family are well?" 

"Yes, of course, they are fine," Graham said, and then added, "By the by, if you see Severus Snape here, please let him know that I'll be wanting to speak to him. I understand that you are familiar with each other." 

"One might say that," Severus said dryly, but there wasn't a wrinkle in his face that betrayed his secret. "I will keep my eyes open for him, mon ami." 

"Thank you," Graham said, "Please, enjoy the party." 

So saying, he rose and disappeared into the crowd, looking perplexed. 

Severus chuckled. "Can your chair acommodate another?" 

Hermione moved so that she was leaning back in the chaise properly, and Severus seated himself at the edge of it, and fed her grapes and sweetmeats from his tray. 

"A lot of the real work won't start until the alcohol has had time to take root in peoples' systems," Severus said through legilimency. "Also I can't believe the man. He hired me to play subterfuge. How did he imagine I would arrive as myself? Even at my most *glamorous,* I stick out like a sore thumb among all these blue-blooded purebloods." 

Severus shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Rich as god, stupid as dirt."

"At least this should solve your funding problem," Hermione affirmed. "It seems he promises to make you quite comfortable financially." 

"His word is good," Severus remarked, "but his mind is not. I have yet to see anything that is at all... suggestive of what he imagines." 

"Lasalle!" came a chipper, familiar voice, and it took Hermione off guard. "So good to see you, dear old boy. How are you?" 

"Horace!" Severus said, and there was a terse expression on his face. "Mon dieu, it has been so long." 

Slughorn seemed about to sweep Severus up into a tight hug, but Severus angled himself to introduce Hermione. "And this is my wife, who I don't believe you've met?" 

"Ah, how charming, my dear," Horace responded, and took Hermione's extended hand to kiss it. 

His moustache tickled her knuckle, and Hermione couldn't help but experience a flashback to when he'd showed off his animagi skills at Pince's holiday party. 

She felt her fingers tensing despite themselves, and Slughorn gently let go of her. "Lilianne," Hermione said by way of introduction, and it felt awkward to introduce herself to someone she knew so... intimately already. 

"How are you enjoying the party, Proffeseur?" asked Severus, who looked tremendously uncomfortable in a way that Hermione couldn't interpret. But she supposed that he had similar feelings to her. Except Severus was actually interested in Slughorn, and, well, this made things more difficult of course. 

"It is splendid," Horace murmured, and sipped from a glass of mead. "But it does seem to lack the lustre of the old days, you know. Not that I'd have us go back to the old days, of course," Slughorn said, "but it is sad to see the numbers here tonight. Mostly us old fuddy-duddies, eh? So few young folks. Though to be quite truthful, I did have to look twice when you walked in with this beauty on your arm, Lasalle. I could have sworn you weren't a day over twenty-five, my dear." 

Hermione laughed politely. "Oh, Lasalle did always say you were a soft-hearted gentleman. Pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Proffeseur." 

"Simile, madame," Slughorn said, and sipped his mead again. "May I?" he asked, raising his other hand to take a bit of cheese from Severus' plate. 

"Of course," Severus said, "In fact, do sit and chat with my dear Liliane for just a bit. I promised Madame Burke a dance, and she will have my guts for garters if I do not hasten to her side." 

"Go with the speed of the four winds," Slugorn said, and he took Severus' seat immediately. 

"*Thanks,*" Hermione practically shouted to Severus through legilimency. 

"Keep the poor man occupied while I work," Severus responded, hustling away but still within eyesight. "He's bound to make things difficult otherwise." 

"Okay," Hermione finished, and then closed her mind tightly to prevent undesired static chatter from other folks' minds from seeping in. "So tell me, you've been a professor at the Hogwarts school for many years, yes?" 

"Ah, but I am retired once again," Slughorn said, a twinkle in his eye. "I presume you studied at Beauxbatons?" 

"Mais oui, of course," Hermione said, sounding a little bit too much like Fleur Delacour for her own taste. But she was ready to redirect the conversation straightaway before Slughorn got to cataloguing her connections to various French wizarding nobles who had taken him out on riding trips in his youth, or whatever else he might come up with. Fortunately, she knew exactly how to do this. 

"But enough about me, I hear you have marvelous stories about practically every person here," she said, and batted her eyelashes at him hopelessly. 

"Oh, I know a bit about this and that," Slughorn responded, and he smiled broadly. "Let me see." 

He gazed across the assembled company and then observed, "You see that boy with the close-cropped hair?" 

Hermione nodded. She recognized it as a former schoolmate of hers, probably Ravenclaw. She didn't remember his name. But Slughorn launched into an extraordinary tale about this boy's history. While it might interest you, my dear readers, I do not think it has much relevance to this story, so I will take the authorial liberty of skipping over it. 

"And that woman with the dark veil?" 

Here Horace told another very interesting and profound story about a complete stranger, to Hermione's interest. She was paying attention, since she imagined that there might be inadvertent clues in Slughorn's diversions. She did her best to remember every detail. 

"And now, my dear," said Horace, and he struggled to a standing position. "My healer tells me I need to take more regular exercise, so I would like to invite you to dance? Just to get the heart pumping, eh?" 

Hermione instinctively glanced around to find Severus. It took her a moment to remember that his hair wasn't black, and that he wasn't wearing black. Normally it was so easy to pick him out from a crowd. But there actually were quite a number of portly older men at this event wearing whites, so it was slightly more difficult than usual. She located him near the refreshment table, speaking obliquely with an unsavory-looking man. 

"I think that sounds lovely," Hermione said, and she accepted his hand as he led her back onto the ballroom floor. 

Slughorn's dance was just as careful and unimpressive as it had been back during the winter holidays. He carried his weight very well, and unlike Severus was not inclined to actually bump awkwardly into things or lead Hermione to bump into his stomach as they danced. Slughorn danced elegantly with her, but Hermione could tell the man was musing over something carefully. 

After a dance, Slughorn took her hand and led her back to the chaise. 

"I'm not going to pry, my dear," he said, "but I know you and Severus are up to something." 

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, and Slughorn raised his finger to his lips in a 'shh' gesture. 

"After the party last December, do you think I wouldn't recognize the boy's delicious arse, no matter what it was clothed in?" 

Hermione didn't say anything, mostly because she didn't know what to say. 

Slughorn just nodded in a knowing fashion. 

"Regardless of what is happening here... I've been disappointed he hasn't called me as he promised. And I am too late in my life to feel that my attentions are wanted by your generation. If you would be so kind, my dear, to let him know that he shouldn't expect me to make a first move - if he wants to explore further flirtations with someone like me, he's going to have to be a little bit more... proactive, I daresay." 

"He... he was in the hospital for a while," Hermione said softly, not sure if this amounted to a betrayal of Severus' trust on multiple levels. But she did feel an earnestness from Slughorn - what did the man really have to gain from exposing Severus' cover? He'd already drawn his conclusions and all it seemed was that he wanted was a bit of kindly company. Hermione knew that Severus did have an interest in a relationship with the older man, and it did surprise her that Severus hadn't been keeping in touch with the other Slytherin. 

"Ah," Slughorn said, but he remained unsatisfied, according to his tone. 

"And we had the conference that we prepared," Hermione added, neglecting to mention that this conference was what put Severus in the hospital. That would be a line too far, probably. 

"Right," Hoarce said, but ultimately he still sounded hurt. "So, anyhow, my dear, if you get a chance to talk to him about this, it'd ease my own mind. I must say, though," he added somewhat sadly, "I always thought of Lasalle as a potential suitor closer to my own age group. It is a bit of a dismay to see that I might lose my chances with both him and our dark-haired friend with one fell swoop." 

"I understand," Hermione said. And she really did. She felt the palpable disappointment from Slughorn, it seemed like he must have really been crushing on Lasalle. But now he recognized him to be Severus in disguise... well, it was like thinking you had two turkey legs but discovering they were actually just one. Hermione could sympathize deeply with this. 

"I'm sure you do," Horace said, and his voice seemed to get softer and reedier. "As I think about it," he added, sounding tired, "I must wonder why Lasalle is even making an appearance. I don't imagine it's a mission of pleasure, is it?" 

Hermione shook her head. She had already gambled on trusting Slughorn, and she might as well gain some support from him. 

"Oh dear," Slughorn said, and he seemed to melt into the chaise. "I do hope the poor boy isn't getting mixed up in something else dreadful. He has such a habit of getting into desperate scrapes... Hm, not dissimilar to you, my dear," he added, looking thoughtful. "But I trust that if you are at his side, he can't go terribly wrong. As it is, you've had a very good impression on him. He's so much more pleasant now than I ever thought he could be." 

Hermione nodded. "It wasn't all me," she was quick to acknowledge. "There was another before me." 

"Ah, of course, but she's the one who got him all twisted in the first place, poor chap," Slughorn said, clearly referring to Lily Evans. 

"No, more recently. Before me," added Hermione, and Slughorn's eyes were wide. 

"I must learn more about this," said the older man with keen interest. "But from him, m'dear, of course." 

"Of course," Hermione said, and her eyes widened as Severus came sauntering back looking as casual as could be. 

"I think I've got what we need," he said as he came close to them, not even bothering with an accent. "Horace. It seems you've uprooted our secret." 

"So it would seem," Slughorn said, and he smiled a little sadly. He eased himself up from the chaise and patted Severus' shoulder warmly. "Grant me the pleasure of a floo call soon, m'boy. These old bones are sorely lacking for congenial company these days. And now," he said a little more loudly, "I will be making my way through these sumptuous refreshments. Take care of yourselves, doves." 

So saying, he toddled off towards the food tables, disappearing into the crowd. 

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, feeling the heat of tears on her face. "He found you out all on his own." 

"It's all right," Severus consoled her, and pressed a kiss on top of her forehead. "He's harmless. But if you are not dying to dance again, I'm ready to depart." 

So saying, he led the couple through the crowd. 

"So sorry," he apologized to the doorman, "My poor lovely, she is taken with, what you say, a malade, a malady of the head."

"A headache," supplied the servant sympathetically. 

"Please relate our apologies to Monsieur Plopp." 

With that, Hermione and Severus obtained their coats and took to the floo.


	100. slughorn and severus snugglebunnies forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is basically for PFC ok <3

Severus slipped through the floo, as gracefully as he could manage. He could hear the operatic, commanding tones of a tenor echoing through the front hall of Horace's home. The entire air seemed to vibrate with Italian vibrato, and yet everything was immensely still. 

A pair of slippers fluttered down to his feet, and a silken dressing-gown hovered conveniently at his side. Severus smiled to himself, and took off his boots and overcoat. 

He admired Horace's peculiarities, particular though they were. And his heart was beating tightly in his chest, pushing forward and echoing through the rest of his body in time with the music. 

He wasn't sure if Horace was even home, though they *had* been exchanging notes by owl, and Severus *had* correctly noted the moment's date and time. But the quiet and the stillness in the dark mansion led Severus to doubt his memory, good as it was. 

At least he was here, though, after a lot of foolish foot-dragging on his part. He really didn't know why it was. 

Perhaps it was a pervasive belief that Horace couldn't *possibly* like his sorry ugly arse. (Though, when he checked the facts, he saw how ridiculous it was to believe this. Horace saw through a disguise Severus'd maintained for *years* simply out of admiration of said arse.) 

Perhaps it was because Severus knew, as soon as he and Horace began whatever it was they were about to begin, it might spiral into previously uncharted territory that would endanger his sanity. (To be honest, though, he knew that having more quality relationships in his life had a habit of improving his sanity, so he had to admit this wasn't the answer.) 

Perhaps it was because he was embarrassed that he hadn't followed up immediately after the party in December - and he hadn't been looking forward to apologizing for his lateness. (This was probably the biggest reason.)

But Severus wasn't foot-dragging any longer. He strode as silently as possible into a room that glowed with the gold of firelight, a pleasant smell of burnt sandalwood, and also with a heavenly masculine vocal crescendo. 

There, slumped over in a comfortable chair by the fire, Horace Slughorn sat with his eyes closed and his hands folded primly over his stomach. A half-eaten box of crystallized pineapple sat on his tum, in danger of slipping down into the valley created by Horace's stomach and the chair's arm. A glass of brandy or some other sweet drink sat at his elbow, next to a decanter of the same. He was snoring just slightly, but positioned adjacent to him was another chair, waiting for Severus. A dish of sweetmeats sat on a side table next to this chair - marzipan, digestives, and some grapes - quite out of reach of Horace's prying fingers. 

In total, this was a sight that melted Severus' heart into chocolate. He wasn't late, but clearly Horace had been sitting in anticipation, waiting, for some time. It did seem as if Horace simply couldn't wait for Severus' arrival. And that made a special feeling bubble within Severus' chest. 

It was so *nice* to be wanted, and to be wanted so sincerely. It made Severus' former woes regarding Not Being Chosen as a teenager fade away. And it also made his contemporary guilt even sharper. 

Taking the visual cue of Horace's own comfortable position, Severus tried to relax. He seated himself in the warm chair and put his feet on a stool perfectly placed for toasting at the fire. He nibbled at the grapes, admiring the succulence and realizing they had to have come straight from the Mediterranean - they were green, but so sweet, they must have been picked from their sun-drenched vine just that morning. The marzipan melted on his tongue in a crystalline, sugary paste that lingered in the nooks and crannies of his mouth. And the digestives, while ordinary of type, were of supreme quality - made with undoubtedly the finest, freshest flour that money could buy, and coated in the richest chocolate. 

He found himself unexpectedly hungry, and could not persuade himself to leave a single bite untasted. The scene made him feel so cozy and replete, he never felt rushed or urgent in his need to eat. Every bite felt intentional, like a gift from the gods, and Severus found that the music heightened the quality of the experience. 

But finally, with a last piercing fermata that left Severus gasping for breath, the live recording ended with applause, and the needle lifted and removed itself from the record. 

The silence seemed to reverberate, with the richness of the music still pushing its sound waves through the house, and the building seemed to sigh in appreciation like an old man sinking into a hot bath. 

Severus thought the scene too precious, too sacred, too still to disturb with such meaningless things as *words.* Instead, he took pleasure in watching Horace sleep. 

The man's big body inflated with every breath, sometimes growing quite large, sometimes remaining fairly small. His face rested in a serious expression, so different from his usual jovial appearance that he put on for the world. Indeed, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed meditatively, and he looked like he was giving someone a serious talking-to about their behavior in his sleep. Possibly himself, though Severus had no idea what kind of dreams Horace had. 

Severus realized he didn't know the man all that well at all - Slughorn had a way of being so garrulous without telling anyone anything about himself personally. It would have been a Hufflepuffian type of garrulousness, except for this sensitive exclusion of self-referral. 

Slughorn was a master at diversion and distraction, and what he was so clever at diverting and distracting people from was his own acute skills of observation, as well as his other personal traits. It made Severus thoughtful. What *was* the real Horace Slughorn like, inside? 

Severus looked at the man, and at his house, and tried to draw some conclusions. 

Clearly the man enjoyed the hedonistic side of things; he supped and dined in the most perfect of comfort everywhere he went. It almost was as though anywhere he went, he brought along his own dignity. Even if the man were condemned to poverty of the lowest form, deprived of all luxurious ornaments and comforts, Horace probably would turn his bread and water into toast and tea. Without a second thought. 

Indeed, Severus thought - with a little preparation, there wasn't a single thing that Slughorn would consider beneath him. Whatever came his way, he'd roll up his sleeves and take matters as they came. 

And that? That led Severus to think about Horace's humility. 

The man, for all his vanity, didn't puff himself up. He was a rising tide that carried all ships, and while he gloried in it, he didn't do so without actual merit. And the focus was always on how Horace could help whatever persons caught his eye and attention. And how briliant *these* people were, and how he helped them get to where they were. But it wasn't really tooting his own horn. 

No, it was more a reflection of Horace's own pride towards his role in *others'* success. He enjoyed being the one who gave rising stars a boost into orbit. He enjoyed making connections between people and circumventing the artificial boundaries that maintained the status quo. 

Indeed, the more Severus considered the older man in front of him, the more he saw how subversive Horace really was. 

Heavens knew, it was a politically radical statement for Slughorn to invite the shabby young Snape into his fold, much less the muggleborn Lily Evans. In that day and age, a half-blood was almost as ornery as a muggleborn, and having both at his Slug Club meetings must have made the old purebloods gnash their teeth. Not that Lucius ever had, of course - even as a boy, Lucius had always been tasteful and discreet. So much more so than his simpering son. 

It made Severus sad to think about this, and also strangely grateful to Lucius. Doubtless, he'd been shielded from a lot of that thanks to Lucius and their quid-pro-quo arrangement. It could have been so much worse for him, without the House of Malfoy keeping the haters at bay. 

It must have been *so* much worse for Lily. Even Gryffindor was not invulnerable to the heightened discrimination of the era. 

And as usual, the thought of Lily and her suffering made Severus want to kick himself several times over in the face. He'd been such a pudding-headed wanker that all he could perceive was his own pain - he'd never been able to really understand how bad things must have been for her in the wizarding community, as a Muggle-born. 

No wonder she cleaved so tightly to Potter once she succumbed to his affections - didn't Severus cling just as tightly to Lucius' shirt-tails once he saw the protection it gave him? An intimate alliance with a pureblood was one of the surest roads towards tolerance of impure blood among the pureblood community. After all, the smarter of the purebloods recognized that there had to be some cross-breeding somewhere, for the sake of successful propogation. But the keyword was 'tolerance,' not 'acceptance'... for there was a limit to the patience of any old-guard pureblood family. 

But Severus was interrupted from entering a familiar tailspin of self-hatred and melancholy by a little sneeze. This was accompanied by the involuntary crackle of flatulence that escaped Horace's lush bottom. Severus found himself chuckling at the sight, especially as it woke Horace up with a start, suddenly wide-awake and alert. 

"Oh!" 

Bleary-eyed, the man shook his head and realized he wasn't alone. "Severus!" 

"Whom have we had the pleasure of hearing this evening?" asked Severus, smirking and gesturing to the gramaphone. 

"A beautiful South-African tenor by the name of Johan Botha," Horace said, seeming just a trifle bewildered at having Severus in his parlor. "Is it really tea-time already?" 

"A bit past," Severus admitted, "I couldn't bear to wake you." 

"Well, pardon my somnolescence," Horace said with a groan, and grasped at the box of pineapple with a practiced hand before easing himself out of the chair. "Candied pineapple, my friend?" 

Severus couldn't turn it down! He took a good three lumps of it and placed them carefully in his mouth. The sweet splendor of them made him itch with a yearning for freedom - a sunny tropical isle with coconut drinks and grilled lobster. 

Gods, he needed to see the world or something. There was so much he wanted to do, so much to see, and so much he *wanted.* 

Of course, in the past these feelings had been beaten out of him through the sheer misery of his repetitive, grueling life as an unglamorous spy. But now, he actually had means, motive, and opportunity to do the things he'd only dreamed of. He could - and should - take up the Candlestick and destroy Mr. Body in the Kitchen. 

AKA: spread that son-of-a across the black-and-white tiled floor and shove said candlestick up as far Mr. Body's arse as it could go. 

The thought made Severus' cock twitch, and he hurriedly returned to the much more tranquil thoughts of Beaches and Sand and Palm Fronds and Lagoons and Pina Colada. 

And, well, it seemed like there was an abundance of people who would want to go with him, if he dared to make such a vision his reality. It was a bit unnerving, actually, as he counted in his mind the people who would probably enjoy a tropical vacation with him - Hermione, Horace, Poppy, Pince, Erika... perhaps even Minerva, but not in *that* way. 

Severus also thought about Lucius, who was in many ways his first real love, and he wondered what Lucius would say to an owl proposing the two men take a portkey to the Riviera next summer. His vanity taunted him with hopes that Lucius would come skipping back to him, but the truth was Lucius probably would just smirk with pity at the mess of a man Severus had become. 

And yet he had the temerity to dream. Dammit, Severus didn't have time to entertain yet *another* lover in the near future. His time was *not* infinite, and heavens knew, he shouldn't be so greedy as to want so many people desperate to fuck him. It was a miracle he'd even found one, much less nearly half a dozen. 

If only that poor sad Severus of twenty years ago could see him now... 

But he quickly brushed these thoughts away, because Horace was rambling about the opera singer. 

"He is *such* a dashing figure, too," Slughorn mused, and sipped his brandy with a pleasant smile. His walrus mustache had a droplet or two of brandy stuck in it, and in the firelight it looked like a drop of honey on a rabbit's pelt. 

And Severus felt like a real arse - fantasizing about impossible dreams while the warmth of a satisfactory reality was sitting directly across from him. He had to forgive himself, sheepishly, because he recognized the instinct immediately. 

Forever and ever, Lily had always been the impossible dream. Now that her memory was fading from even the most haunted parts of his mind, that habit of lusting after the impossible simply needed to take on a new skin. 

And dammit, none of the fine people Snape was fucking right now deserved this half-arsed kind of attention. If he didn't watch himself, this finely-crafted house of cards would come tumbling down, and he'd be left alone and useless and awful again. 

Ah, this was the right way to reconfigure his brain - with electric shocks gauged to keep his codpiece pointed in the right direction. Every time Severus would lose focus on the present, and miss out on the splendors unfolding in front of him, he should just remember that he could lose it all with a single breath. 

And Severus knew - if the house of cards fell down, he'd never be able to pile them up again. This was, simply, his last and final chance to make something Good out of his life, and if he fucked it up, he was buggered for eternity. 

Severus knew he wouldn't be able to survive such a catastrophe. 

So, out of simple self-preservation, he willed himself back to this warm, cozy room, with Horace Slughorn wincing at too large a swallow of brandy, with his feet ensconced in velvet slippers, and with his cock twitching in arousal at the thought of more candied pineapple in his mouth. 

"It sounds like it," Severus said, pretending he had been focused on the narrative the whole time, and he extended a hand to snatch another piece of pineapple from the offered box. 

Horace seemed to pick up on Severus' inattention, though - he had a sad, knowing look in his eye that made Severus feel like the lowest form of invertebrate. 

"So, what are our plans for the evening?" asked Slughorn. His face seemed bright and merry, but also a hint of disappointment - more specifically, the expectation of being disappointed. It was so sad, it made Severus just miserable to see it. 

To cheer him up, Severus roused his most smoldering look and mused, with a low rumble, "What's on offer?" 

The older man ran a hesitant tongue over his lips thoughtfully, and with a timid voice he suggested, "I thought we should have a bit of supper, and then perhaps a bit of music, and then perhaps some other pleasant activities." 

Severus felt himself getting deeper into his affected charismatic pose. "Pleasant activities of the sexual kind?" he asked with feigned confidence and a pointed eyebrow.

Slughorn nodded, appearing at once grateful and frantic. "If you'd be so kind, m'boy." 

"Horace, let's make one thing clear," Severus said, and he took another piece of pineapple from the box that sat on the table between them. "If you want me to..." 

He chose his word carefully.

"...*play* with you, I may not be kind." 

"Oh, well, you know," said Slughorn, blushing a bit in his cheeks. He sipped his liquor thoughtfully, and he smiled despite himself. "I might want you to be quite cruel, actually. Depending on the mood." 

"Depending on the mood, indeed," Severus acknowledged, and the two men met eyes almost by accident. An electrical heat crackled between them like lightning, and Severus felt somewhat shaken as they turned their heads away from each other. 

Oh, poor Horace was so lonely. 

Severus berated himself yet again for ignoring the man for the past few months. No matter what reasons he had. It didn't matter. Horace didn't seem to have as much as Severus did, waiting in the wings for his attentions. It was strange to realize this - the effusive social butterfly seemed to have found himself tied up in his own cocoon. 

"But now?" Severus asked, and he extended his hand to the older man in an expression of kindness and solidarity. "What is it that you'd like, from me?" 

Horace took Severus' hand, but seemed unsure how to answer, as if he feared that he might be rejected based on the nature of his request. 

So Severus supplied him with options:

"I tend to be flavored a bit darker, more bitter than other meats," he said softly, and he rose and approached Horace. "And I think you tend to like that about me." 

"Very true, very true m'boy," Horace said, though the lilting 'm'boy' felt like it faltered on Horace's tongue. 

"But believe it or not," Severus continued, and he bent down directly to Horace's eye level. The older man seemed to quiver in his chair like a plum pudding, eyes wide and bright. "...I actually can be quite sweet, given the chance to marinate." 

Horace's lips parted, and his lips closed, and just in time because Severus stole a tentative kiss from the man's warm wet mouth. 

It ended sooner than Horace seemed to want - as Severus pulled away a few inches to assess the damage, Horace's tongue ran over his own lips in a desperate appeal. 

"So, my friend, what will it be?" asked Severus with a smirk, but his shaky self-confidence was pulsing in his ears. "Bitterness, sweetness, or something else entirely?" 

"I... I think I'd like to try the sweetness, for the moment," Horace said, and his eyes were starry with utter ravishment. "I realize despite my stoutness, I'm feeling a bit... fragile. Just for the moment," he added, desperate to reassure Severus of his heartiness. "But right now, I would most like to be tempted by things of the... sugared type, rather than something else." 

Severus, still feeling his heart pounding rapidly, took the opportunity to taunt Horace again with a kiss - though his tongue went by way of mustache, in order to tidy up that bit of golden honey-like brandy that rested there. 

As he pulled away again, this time more slowly, Horace seemed like a cat given a dish of cream. He wanted to be wooed so desperately, Severus could see, and dammit, Severus would not dare to disappoint this unassuming flibbertigibbet of a man. 

"Then let me take you to bed," Severus growled, holding Horace's hand more tightly. "Come. Lead us to your favorite mattress." 

"Oh, old boy, you'd better be careful," Horace said, heaving himself out of his chair with the aid of Severus' strong arm as support. At first Severus thought this comment was addressed to him, but then he realized that Horace was looking down upon himself with some measure of disgust, or fascination, or some other feeling entirely. 

Severus didn't know. Severus did know that he was feeling the intense urge to scoop up this poor old man and press kisses into every soft nook and cranny of his body. He wanted to turn every wrinkle into well-fed youthful flesh that jiggled when touched, and to feel Horace sigh with happiness in his arms. 

Fortunately, all of this was a very simple thing to arrange, once they got into Horace's bedroom.

...........................

Horace gently tucked them both in beneath the heavy, luscious brocade duvet. Severus' fingers traced the pattern absently, particularly where it swelled over Horace's now-otherwise-bare stomach. 

They both were quite naked, under the covers, but today was not a day for heavy arse-pounding and cursing each others' names to the gods. Today was a day for tenderness, Severus saw, and the aforementioned sweetness. 

Horace extinguished the lamp with a wave. Only a candle burned to light up the chamber, and it was extremely appropriate to the mood. Then Horace groped for Severus' hand beneath the flat sheet, and Severus provided it with eager obedience. 

"Why, hello there," Severus said comfortably, and he moved his large arse across the smooth mattress to cleave more closely to Horace's. "Fancy meeting you here." 

"Indeed," Horace said, and there was a little smile in his voice, as if he didn't quite believe this was happening.

In response, Severus simply inched a protective arm over Horace's body and held the man. With every breath, his own body seemed to get just a touch closer to the other man's. 

And Severus also pressed a few hesitant, but deeply well-meaning kisses into Horace's bare shoulder, and then he graduated to leaving them on Horace's soft cheek. 

Horace seemed too stunned to respond, but the moment Severus seemed to hesitate and release, he turned and reciprocated the embrace. 

"I hope this is all right for you," Horace said, after many silent minutes of what was, effectively, cuddling. Tentative and new cuddling, but it was still cuddling nonetheless. 

"Yes," Severus breathed, and he felt a sense of freedom that rarely entered his mind. It was a high kind of feeling, like a first buzz, and he felt the neurochemicals coursing through his body. 

Horace's beautiful large stomach was splayed in front of them both, and Severus was awed by the grandness with which it spread out upon the bed like butter melting across hot toast. It was so generous and luxurious, and Severus could not help but simply run his fingers across it, covered with blanket though it was. 

And Horace smiled, understanding immediately what Severus wanted to do. 

"Go on, have some fun with it," Horace said with a grin, "Heaven knows, I enjoy it plenty on my own time." 

So saying, Horace took Severus' hand underneath the blanket and rested it protectively on the front of his belly. 

And oh! The rush of adrenaline that coursed through Severus' veins? It felt like he was a cruiser who had been hit by a sudden torpedo attack. The softness of Horace's stomach was not something he'd truly been able to enjoy before, even during their multiple flirtations at the Salon party - their interactions then had been more of the hands-off variety, except for the hard-core parts. There hadn't been this soft pink intimacy and appreciation before, and Severus felt simultaneously a raging hard-on and a magnificent desire to *not* fuck quite yet. 

Tonight was a night for dancing before dinner, and really, the dancing was the feature of the evening. Dinner was important of course, as it always was, but this night was designed for the flowering of a different blossom. 

Severus thus boldly let his fingers ghost across Horace's stomach, taunting and teasing with lightness. And Horace moaned, softly, his eyes closing and his lips barely moving beneath that fertile crescent of a mustache. 

In following, Severus began to press kisses all along that splendid man's heavy set of chins, up and down the muted jawline, until finally Horace pressed his own hand into the nape of Snape's neck and brought the tempter's kisses upon his own mouth. 

And soon they were snogging, in the proper and traditional fashion. Tongue melted upon tongue, lips tenderly tempted the others' lips, and the low rumbling and moaning of two deeply hungry men synthesized into a duet. 

Their motions became hotter as Horace began to spider his fingers across Severus' own lovehandles, and Severus pressed his throbbing, painful need into Horace's stomach. 

This, in turn, made Horace's enormous cock appear from beneath his overflowing panniculus, and Severus moaned as the fever-hot tip pressed into his fleshy thigh. 

"Do you want to enjoy me?" Severus asked, feeling his arse twitch with anticipation and eagerness. 

"Yes," Slughorn hissed with a passion Severus hadn't suspected. Then the man patted Severus on the plump tum, and made to sit himself up. 

Soon Severus was ready and in position, and Horace spread the man's cheeks appreciatively. 

"You smell so heavenly," Horace said, pressing his face against Severus' right buttock. "And I swear you have a gift in this beautiful, exquisite rump you've got here." 

Horace patted Severus thoughtfully on said rump, like he might a horse. 

And Severus shivered, as might a horse when it was patted so plainly by its master. 

Then the two men did their fucking business, and both enjoyed it immensely. 

.............................. 

It was the aftermath of their tryst, and the men were curled up together, sweaty and stinking of sex. 

"I need more of this," Severus voiced thoughtfully, hoping that he was picking up on Horace's own thoughts - voicing them on the other man's behalf, in fact. 

"Aye, that I do, m'boy," Horace responded, sounding as if he were on the verge of snoring. "I do indeed." 

Severus felt the other man snuggle closer to him, in the form of Horace's expansive rear bearing ever closer to Severus's stomach. The two body parts were becoming fast friends, Severus felt - he *loved* spooning Horace like this, and the other man seemed to deeply reciprocate the sentiment. 

They remained in silence for many moments, moments that seemed to edge closer and closer to dream-state the longer they dragged. Severus' lids were failing to remain open, and his mind was failing to keep the lights on, but then Horace mumbled: 

"Believe me or not, Severus, but I don't enjoy the company of many people." 

"Mhm," Severus responded, feeling reluctant to fully awake. 

"But I'm getting old," Horace went on. "And the older I get, the less I want to be alone, my friend. But it's difficult because, you know, I really only believe in cultivating a relationship with the most top-tier of things." 

The implication was clear to Severus, and he felt anew awash with guilt regarding his previous neglectful behavior of his former professor. 

"Please, please," Horace sighed, "Tell me this wasn't an anomaly." 

"You asked me this once before," Severus rumbled, choosing his words carefully. "And my answer is the same. I do wish to pursue some sort of non frivolous adventure, together. Pardon my lack of follow-through from December," he added, and he felt like his voice couldn't possibly do the amount of shame he felt justice. "I have no excuse. I became distracted by frivolous things like the conference, and the complexities that went along with it." 

He paused, wondering whether he should mention his hospitalization - or if that would make Horace revile him further. 

"I wondered what happened after you left," Horace said softly, and he turned to lay flat on his back. His face was thoughtful and pensive. "I never got the chance to tell you how absolutely *brilliant* you were."

"I didn't give you much of an opportunity," Severus said lowly, and he added, "I reacted like a child to that crowd." 

"To be truthful, m'boy, it wasn't the usual sort of tough crowd you find at most academic conferences," acknowledged Horace with a slight smile. "They were positively dreadful and I wrote several nasty letters to a number of those cotton-headed nincompoops." 

"I'm sure they weren't all that nasty," Severus quipped, and he pressed a gentle kiss on Horace's cheek. "Only subtle in their sharpness, as per your wit." 

"Subtle, certainly - but crystal clear," Horace confirmed, and he tentatively returned Severus' kiss. Then the man had the damned insight to rest his head against Severus' heavy breast, and it was all too perfectly cozy and wonderful, and Severus knew the truth was going to spill out too easily. 

"In no uncertain terms, you defended my honor," Severus said, wincing slightly, but there was a pleasantness behind the grimace. "Kind, if misguided of you." 

"I fight for my own," Horace said, and he turned his head to meet Severus' eyes. 

In no uncertain terms, the look read - *and you are one of my own.* 

"But I say I didn't give you much chance," Severus went on, feeling his tongue loosened by a compulsion to confess, "Because I was carted straight away to the loony bin straight after. Because I no longer have a spine, evidently." 

"Oh," Horace said, and his voice changed drastically. "Oh. You poor boy." 

Thus saying, the older man turned properly over and wrapped his arms completely around Severus. Or at least as completely as possible, given the breadth and volume of their stomachs. 

"You should have said something," Horace went on, and added, "I'm a very good hospital visitor, you know." 

"I'm sure you are," Severus agreed, and smiled a little sadly. "I can see it now - festive balloons and banners, a thousand varieties of flowers, and enough chocolate to lay me down into a coma." 

"That's approximately right," Horace responded, and he pressed his face earnestly into Severus' soft chest. "But I hope the best feature I bring to the table is my elevated conversation." 

"True," Severus agreed, and he sighed. "But I apologize again for being... incommunicado." 

"You weren't yourself," Horace excused easily. 

"Well, truth be told," Severus added, his voice growing low and rough. "I haven't been myself in any way, shape, or form, since the end of the war." 

These words crackled between the men, and after a few moments of respectful silence, Horace whispered, "I know, m'boy. Do you think we'd be here if you were the same sullen young man you were in your youth?" 

"Pft," Severus snorted. "If you consider my youth to have ended just before my fortieth birthday." 

"In wizarding terms, that isn't too uncommon, actually," Horace said, and he shook his head as he pressed it against Severus' chest. Severus' breast bounced slightly with the motion, but it cleaved tightly to the suction created against Horace's cheek. "M'boy, you've really grown into yourself since the end of that beastly war. I'm so glad to see you becoming something other than yourself. But I daresay it's been a rough go of it, hasn't it?" 

"Rather," Severus observed, feeling a lump catching in his throat. 

"I'm so sorry that I didn't help you," Horace said, and his voice was also tight. He seemed to cling tighter to Severus, if it were possible. "I was blinded by my own petty resentments and foolish feelings. I spent the intervening years prior to your return to Hogwarts in a state of very deep self-reproach. It was too easy to finally forgive you once I thought you were gone. I'm so ashamed it took me so long." 

"Forgiveness for what?" Severus asked, and his confusion was met by Horace pulling away from him, and gazing into Severus' clouding eyes. 

"I suppose, m'boy, you might not know. I have always felt my darkest parts were plain as day on the surface of my soul, but perhaps you never were close enough to see the shadows." 

The next words felt like stones dropping into water. 

"I wasn't the only Slytherin who admired a particular red-headed Muggleborn who was completely and utterly out of his league." 

Oh. 

*Oh.* 

Severus didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So instead he just opted to sit in silence, and receive Horace's warm and tightening embrace. 

So much made sense now, and Severus felt overwhelmed by the clarity of this new information. 

"M'boy?" Horace asked, after several dragging moments passed, "Are you... cross?" 

"No," Severus said, and he took a sigh as he realized he'd been holding his breath for too long. "I'm not cross. Just..." 

He waved his hand at the air in an uncertain fashion. "I wish I could say that I knew, but unfortunately it is a bit of a surprise. But then again, she did seem to inspire the best of us to have tunnel vision." 

"And the worst," agreed Slughorn, and he fumbled around under the blankets for Severus' hand. Slowly, Severus permitted their hands to couple up, and he felt the pressure lifting off his soul as he contemplated this new reality. 

"I don't mind," Severus said, and added, almost unhearably, "I suppose it's a good thing, to share the company of someone else who loved her, too." 

"She was *such* an inspiration," Horace said in a gush of emotion. "I wished so very much to be you, for so many of those years. I knew she was too good for me in a way that tore my heart apart. And I also knew she was too good for Potter, and even too good for you. But of all the hard-headed men who loved her, I wanted you to have her. It broke my heart when I saw your falling-out so plainly on the Hogwarts lawn." 

The revelation - that Slughorn had seen him that day, with his grey knickers visible to all the world - made Severus deeply sad in a way that he couldn't explain. 

Perhaps it meant that Severus couldn't really escape his past, no matter how fat he got, or how mushy his emotions became. Having a witness to his most inglorious moment and also to the beauty of that unattainable Dulcinea? It was almost like having discovered there was an 'off' button for the nightmare that was his hellish life during those times. There was someone he could have bonded with, who might have helped him become a better version of himself than the one he was condemned to live from age fifteen-odd to nearly the age of forty. 

If Severus was his old self, surely he would have gotten up and left right then and there. He wouldn't have sat there with the heavy paradox and let it run over him with radical acceptance. 

But now? Now Severus felt no energy for such shenanigans. Instead, he just felt sad - both for himself and for Horace. They had both loved and lost, and it was a tragic story. And now it was wrapping up in the most beautiful, complicated way. 

"My heart was broken, too," Severus said softly, and he felt his hand press deeply into Horace's soft shoulder. "But while the scar will always remain, I've rehabilitated my heart enough that it has room again." 

"I'm so glad to hear that," Horace said, and he added with a little chuckle, "I hope it might have room for one excessively corpulent old wizard with a fondness for sweet young things like you, m'boy." 

"Call me a sweet young thing again," Severus whispered, in mock offense, "I dare you." 

He softened this with a kiss, and Horace giggled as Severus' fingers swiped across his belly in a possessive lunge, in order to have the optimal position for dry-humping Horace's expansive rippling folds.


	101. snakey kisses

A week after his encounter with Horace, Severus hosted the other man at Hogwarts for supper. Hermione sat at the dining table, legs propped up on another dining chair, scribbling ferociously on some essays. 

"I'm glad to see you on a date," Hermione said, a comfortable mellowness in her voice. "It's a shame to miss your cooking, though. I wish you did it more often." 

"The unfortunate byproduct of my 'fussiness,' as you call it," Severus murmured, poking his nose into the oven to baste the roast chicken, "is that I don't want to waste my labor on something substandard. If I am to prepare dinner for anyone, my dear, it had better be perfect." 

He paused, waved a hand at the bird, and turned it around with some wandless magic. 

"I can't imagine you doing anything in a substandard fashion," Hermione said with a giggle, and Severus turned to give her a sultry, heavy-lidded look. The warm energy between them snapped with the awakening of arousal, and the two hurriedly turned their heads back to their respective occupations with smiles on their lips. 

They still had it, Hermione thought to herself. It seemed so strange to consider what her life had been, without Severus Snape and his wry humor and his bashful blushes and his intensity and raw hunger and eternally unwinding tension and inexhaustible passion... 

Talk about inexhaustible. They'd already had sex this pleasant Saturday - twice - and yet here they were, flirting on the brink of yet another romp in the hay. 

It was damned inconvenient, honestly - she had *grading* to get done, and he *wasn't* helping matters. What with his careful grimaces at his tarragon sauce, the sinister resentment he paid the slow-cooking pork loin in the roast pan, and the irritable clenching of his jaw just before he opened the pan of wild rice to whip it into fluffy clouds of aromatic jasmine. 

Not to mention the way he wiped a hand across the front of his wide white apron, rendering the cloth perfectly smooth against his distinguished stomach. The way his buttocks jiggled just a bit every time he turned his back to her. The way he bent over with such agony as he tried to find a different spice from the cupboard. 

"Curses - why didn't I think to make buns?" he asked himself, opening the oven door again and staring sadly into it - as if he hoped said buns might suddenly manifest inside. 

"I think Horace will find there's enough buns already to satisfy his sweet tooth," Hermione said with a straight face. Severus scrunched up his face in an expression of confusion and looked at her, then rolled his eyes as he saw that she was joking. 

"You naughty little minx," he purred, and slammed the oven door abruptly and straightened himself up. "If we weren't so short on time, I'd have a mind to teach you a lesson." 

"Oh really?" Hermione asked innocently, "Teach me a lesson, eh? I'd like that, *Professor.*" 

But then Severus flashed her a glare - a real, shut-this-down-this-instance kind of glare, one that meant business. And Hermione put a hand to her mouth in surprise and self-reprimand. 

"Oh God. I can't believe I said that," Hermione whispered, reeling in the realization she'd broached one of their Verboten Topics. 

"Forget it," snapped Severus, hoisting himself up from his crouching position. "Just forget it. We've already had these discussions. Just forget it." 

There was a ringing at the floo, which interrupted them. Severus hurried to the living room, waved his hand at the floo, and then hastened back to the kitchen. He tried to untie the knot at the back of his apron, but struggled. 

"Help?" he asked, backing up his luscious arse towards the dining table and Hermione's eager hands. 

"Oh, I think Horace will find you quite dashing with it on," Hermione said, and instead she took the loose ends and tied them into a tidy bow. "I'm sure he'll be of some help taking it off once it's time for that." 

"Thanks a *lot,*" hissed Severus, but the ire was dampened by the way he turned around and plopped a long-suffering kiss upon her head. "Silly little trollop," he added affectionately, awkwardly giving her a side-embrace as he stood looking at Horace emerge from the floo. "Now shoo, go off and find some other amusements for the night." 

"Why not let the poor girl stay?" Horace said, entering the kitchen and hesitantly opening his arms for an embrace. "As I always say - the more the merrier." 

Severus, mirroring the other man's hesitancy, simply went in to kiss the older man's cheek. They somewhat collided together in a brief, unsatisfying fashion, Horace wrapping one arm around Severus' waist, then Severus quickly spun to offer Horace a chair. 

"I wouldn't mind staying for dinner," Hermione said, registering the unevenness between the two men's energies this night. She supposed that, as usual, she'd have to help smooth things out a bit to get things right and proper with Severus before leaving. 

She didn't mind - because this was laying in groundwork to help develop his relationship with Horace. This relationship, Hermione expected, would help her out quite a bit in the end - having someone who could 'tag in' for a symptomatic Severus seemed like a strong, forward-thinking plan. No one else seemed interested enough to come up for the job, and Erika seemed to be taking more and more a backseat in Severus' support systems these days. It seemed important to help Severus land Horace as an emotional investor, if not for his sake then for Hermione's. 

So thinking, she put on her most charming smile and propped her breasts upon the table in a casual display of feminine wiles. She didn't really feel attracted to Horace, not since the whole animagus stunt he pulled at the Salon party, but she did like him enough to tickle his imagination a bit. 

"I admit," she added, sending Horace a dazzling smile, "I was a bit jealous of Severus' strenuous efforts in the kitchen this evening. He's putting on quite a show for you, Horace. Six courses plus dessert." 

"Does dessert really count as a course?" asked Severus, but there was a smugness in his voice that suggested, indeed, dessert probably consisted of two whole courses. 

"Now, all this effort just for your humble old friend seems a trifle unnecessary," Horace said, sounding uncomfortable. But he made the most of it, sliding into the offered chair with relief. 

"First impressions count," Severus responded, but Hermione could tell that he looked embarrassed and anxious - he bit his lower lip, and it was eerie to see him reflecting her own favored mannerism so distinctly. 

They were rubbing off on each other, and it simultaneously made Hermione happy but also somewhat depressed. Were human beings just that simple, that within less than a year of frequent contact, they would start imitating each other so easily? 

It made her a bit afraid - what was Snape rubbing off on her? 

Even this thought, though, activated her own self-deprecating set of ruminations. She had recently noticed that privately, in her own mind - whenever she was objectifying Severus, or complaining about his behavior to herself, or experiencing some kind of dissatisfaction with him, she'd call him Snape. Maybe she wouldn't say it aloud, but that was her tendency. Whereas aloud she rarely called him by his last name - and in her mind, she called him Severus in any other context where she felt fondly towards him. 

It was just a little behavior, but it was noticeable, and she felt awkward at the realization. It wasn't a good feeling, to remember that she still had so much of that old residual resentment hanging around. 

She'd have to address it eventually, she thought, but not tonight. 

"I daresay Severus is a bit sensitve about his cooking," Hermione said, and added, "He feels that he's got a lot to prove to a gourmand such as yourself, Horace." 

"Stuff and nonsense," Horace declared, but there was a satisfied smirk on his face. "I'm quite satisfied with a simple dinner of meat and potatoes, if that's what is on offer." 

"But what we have on offer is, I hope, much more suitable to your preferred palate," Severus responded, his tone jovial but his face stern and a touch worried. "Might I interest you both in canapés?"

So saying, he laid down an elegant arrangement of stuffed mushrooms, plated in a tidy circle with a drizzle of amber liquid, fresh parsley, and sliced lemons in the center. 

"Champignons farci au jambon," Severus pronounced carefully, as if he'd read it out of a book and wasn't completely certain of what the words meant. 

"Lovely," Horace said, and speared a mushroom delicately and brought it to his lips. He inserted it all in one bite, and his face seemed to melt with appreciation. "Oh, erm, yes. That is lovely." 

The older man had his eyes closed, but Severus was smiling grimly - knowing that as there was so much yet to come, the opportunities for disappointment would be boundless. 

Hermione shrugged her shoulders at this game. It was tiresome to try and persuade Severus not to be anxious. Only time would prove that Horace's approval had nothing to do with Severus' performance in the kitchen. Honestly, the amount of worry tied up in Severus' head seemed to suggest there was much more at stake here than a simple token of affection from a lover. Hermione suspected there was some serious Father Issues at work in this relationship as well. But she wasn't one to judge Severus for this - she certainly had plenty of her own parental issues of her own to work out. She just... wasn't working them out in the bedroom. 

At least she didn't think she was? 

She let that question ease out of her mind like the heat of a summer day distilling into a warm sunset evening, especially because Severus gave her a plate of her very own mushrooms. 

Imitating Horace, she tasted one, and it nearly made her orgasm on the spot. The rich buttery texture of the mushroom perfectly encased the simple bread-crumb, ham, and parmesean cheese of the interior. A squeeze of lemon juice brightened the flavor and made the poetry become a song in her mouth. She embraced the tart and savory juices that squelched in her mouth like a pair of rubber boots left in a puddle being run over by a lorry, only so much more delicious. 

"Oh this is divine," she practically whimpered, and waved at Severus to get his attention. It was hard - his gaze latched onto Horace as he observed the man take bite after bite, and he watched with utter fascination. As if he was imagining Horace's mouth doing something completely different at that moment than eating mushrooms. 

"I quite agree," Horace said, and he turned and offered Severus a bite from his plate. 

"No need to share," Severus admitted, and he summoned a salad bowl from the kitchen that, upon proper examination, was full to the brim with more mushrooms. "I've got more than enough to satisfy everyone, including myself." 

So saying, he seated himself at a stool between Horace and Hermione, and cradled the bowl appreciatively. And without much production, he proceeded to munch through several dozen. Horace seemed astonished at the sight, and kept glancing over at Hermione as if to ask 'is he all right?' 

Hermione just gave a knowing grin - Severus hadn't eaten much at all today, insisting he wasn't hungry at breakfast and lunch even though this was very unlike him. She caught him with a snack of some crisps around mid-afternoon, as he started cooking for tonight - but in his defense, the bag was nearly-empty leftovers from Hermione's most recent trip to London, and the couple had just finished their second part of the day's sexual marathon. It was probably nerves playing games with his digestion, Hermione guessed. 

Indeed, at this moment she observed Severus clean up what must have been three or four dozen stuffed mushrooms, and he looked disappointed at the empty bowl. He whisked away their dishes and almost immediately presented the next course. 

"Verrines d’épinards et tartare de saumon," he announced, more confident than before. The little glasses he laid in front of them contained layers of marinated salmon and a pesto of spinach, layered one upon another. It was a well-crafted dish, though it didn't have the explosive quality of the mushrooms in Hermione's opinion. In short, Hermione was underwhelmed, but Horace seemed to be charmed by the very French manner of this dinner. 

"I shouldn't be surprised at the elegance of your table, Severus," Horace said, his eyes bright as he savored the dish, "But believe me, I am duly impressed by your *apertifs.*" 

"Merci, and may you enjoy the main courses even better," the younger potions master added. He didn't seem to have a wild passion for this appetizer, though; he had a single glass that he dutifully cleaned, the same quantity as he served the others. Clearly this was a showpiece for Horace, and Hermione didn't mind. 

After licking his own spoon clean, Severus served a light salad of arugula, pecorino cheese, and pine nuts, and stewed pear. Hermione laughed to herself as she observed Severus' serving was much more cheese than greens, but she appreciated the balance on her own plate. The slightly spicy arugula seemed a perfect match for the pungent cheese, and the sweet pear and nuttiness of the pignoli brought the other two flavors together into a syncretized whole. Horace appreciated it without comment, but he didn't leave a single taste on his plate. 

The next course did take Hermione's breath away, however. Little bowls of smooth watermelon granitas appeared with Severus' practiced clap, dressed with passionfruit flowers and the little globules of passionfruit seeds that looked like little frog eggs. 

"Where on earth did you get passionfruit this time of year?" Horace murmured aloud, and added, "Is your greengrocer Alvin?"

"No, I get most things from the weekly Muggle farmer's market," Severus said dryly, "but for a rare treat, when I can afford it, Honeyduke's has a Select catalogue for the discerning consumer." 

"This dish alone must have cost a king's ransom," Horace said with wide eyes. Hermione watched Severus lean in to whisper something in Horace's ear seductively, and the older man turned bright pink from the tips of his mustache to the growing bald spot on his head. 

Without illuminating Hermione, Severus marched back to the stove to prepare the next course. Horace, still quite tickled, leaned towards Hermione and muttered in a low voice, "He said that I was a king worth ransoming." He paused. "As well as something else." 

Hermione waved her hand at Horace. "I don't need to hear the details," she said with a smile. "You two are sweet. Don't feel compelled to share your little whispers. I'm not jealous." 

"Well, I am, on your behalf," Horace said thoughtfully, and gazed at Severus as the other man pottered around the kitchen plating the next round of delicacies. "He seems to unfurl like a bashful flower, a petal at a time. Yet he's so comfortable with you. That can't have been easy to achieve." 

"We aren't very formal, is all," Hermione answered, and she dabbed some fresh soft bread in the remaining traces of mushroom sauce. "We spend a lot of time together. You'll feel more at ease together soon, I'm sure." 

"I hope so." So saying, Horace turned his eyes over Hermione and her soft, pliable figure. "It grieves me that I only started being jealous when I saw how much you've done for him. He's become butter in your warm hands, and we all can benefit from your efforts." 

"I've done nothing of the sort," Hermione said, sounding a bit harsher than she desired. She cast her eyes towards Horace, who frowned at her. She added, more gently, "He's the only one responsible for his changing. If butter melts when it is warmed, that's the butter's quality, not the quality of the hands." 

This elicited a chuckle from the older wizard, but it was a bit sad in tone. "You are quite right, my dear. I suppose what I'm saying is that I wish I'd opened my hands sooner to warm him." 

"Well, you're here now," Hermione said flatly, "and that's what matters most. Regrets do you very little good unless you make efforts to prevent them happening over again." 

"Indeed," Horace said, his smile just a trifle melancholy. 

They were interrupted by Severus striding back into the room, his heavy, strong steps shaking the china on the table just the tiniest bit. The chicken needed no introduction, presented in thin steaming slices on a bed of asparagus, smothered in tarragon cream sauce. Hermione took her time with her first bite of it, and the chicken seemed to melt in her mouth. 

"This is exceptional in flavor," Horace said after a moment of hungry silence. "So perfectly moist, m'boy. You've outdone yourself in every way, Severus. I can't help but believe that you're spoiled at Hogwarts as a potions master." 

"The creation of a perfectly tender roast chicken certainly outweighs the value of any potential medical curatives brewing in my lab," quipped Severus sarcastically, but he seemed to hide his face behind his hair to sheild the others from his sappy smile. "How are the potatoes?" 

"Quite fine, m'boy," Horace said, noticing the absence of said tubers from Severus' own plate, but he refrained from saying anything. "Quite creamy and refreshing, with just a hint of chive." 

"Good," grunted Severus, with his mouth half-full. 

The company remained quiet for some time as food was devoured. Hermione felt a bit shy, watching the men eat with gusto, and she slowed down as she began to feel food scraping the top of her stomach, jostling for room like Muggles in a crowded subway train. 

The rich, warm food made her feel wobbly and gelatinous, and soon enough she sat back and rested a hand upon her stomach to better watch the men. 

Horace had his elegant, unassuming polite bites, petite in quantity but not too much so. The way he processed every bite seemed to suggest his consummate appreciation of quality, and Hermione saw the way Severus' eyes latched tremulously on Horace's face, drinking deeply of the older man's essence of approval. 

And after glutting himself on his champignons, Severus' appetite seemed to falter as he approached his entree. His fork paused in midair so many times, it almost was as if he didn't have the heart to keep eating when something so picturesque and virile demanded his attention. 

This did make Hermione jealous, somewhat - that Horace was the kind of person who could make Severus stop eating. But it was far too late to do anything about that, in the moment. Instead, Hermione tried to get at the source of these feelings, and discovered they really were quite shallow. She just wanted Severus to herself, and the only reason she wanted him to herself was because she wanted him to be paying *her* this kind of attention right now. 

This acknowledgement made her smile ruefully. Oh, she was a greedy girl indeed - no matter how much Severus would love her, she couldn't get enough, and she did so desperately want to feel his cock inside her again this evening. His stamina and energy had never been better, what with his exercise regimen taking such marvelous shape, and while he'd lost a few pounds of fat but gained it all back in muscle - to Hermione's great delight. She liked the buff strength of his upper arms and his shoulders and his calves and his gluteal muscles... 

Well to be honest, there was very little about Severus' body that didn't catch her attention these days. He was soft in all the right places, and hard in all the ones that intrigued her, and as she sat there contemplating him, there was no way she was letting him out of her sight this evening. If Horace didn't like it, he could sod off, but either way, Hermione was going to make sure Severus paid his dues to his plump little chickadee tonight! 

Thus resolved, she leaned forward and gestured to Severus to come close to her. 

"I can't help but fancy your messy apron," she said with a wink. To accentuate her point, she placed her finger in a drip of stray tarragon sauce and brought it to her mouth with a moaning hum. 

Two pairs of male eyes locked onto her position, and she smiled in a coquettish manner. 

"Sorry, boys," she added with a little flaunt of her hair, "I didn't mean to distract you." 

"Distraction welcomed," Severus murmured lowly, and his tongue passed over his reddening lips. "You are always a welcome sight, my dear," he said softly, and pressed a delicate kiss upon her cheek. "Now be a good little witch and finish your dinner," he ordered, his grin sly and cunning. "Or I will not grace your plate with delicious petit-fours." 

"Wicked man," Hermione responded, dabbing at her chicken with a forkful of mashed potatoes. "How ever do you think I'll be able to eat another bite in this dress?" 

"What, is it too small?" Severus asked, welcoming the play eagerly, but glancing between Horace and Hermione as if watching to see if Horace would feel left out. 

"By several sizes," Hermione moaned, and her fingers began to fiddle with her demi-corset. It was mostly decorative, and did not restrict her much at all under normal circumstances - rather it was a slightly glorified belt. But at this point in the dinner, it was starting to mercilessly pinch at her waist and just below the breastbone, and she wasn't particularly keen on keeping it on. 

"Then let us be of assistance," said Horace, coming immediately to the rescue. "My dear, if you'd be so kind as to indulge an old man his whimsey, I'd love to make myself useful to you while you recline on the chaise." 

"I think that would be lovely," Hermione said, feeling immensely spoiled at the thought. 

At this, Severus offered his arm to help her out of her chair, and she held onto it with a deep sense of comfort until she successfully landed in the desired location. 

"Let me release your bindings," Severus said, and his fingers flirted across her rounded stomach until, with a few distinctive tugs, he'd removed her from the girdle. 

"There, isn't that better?" Horace asked, his smile a bit sickly-sweet, but sincere. 

"Indeed," Hermione said, and she relaxed deeper into the sofa. "Much more comfortable." 

"Let's see if we can't make a bit more room for those petit-fours, hm?" Horace went on, and he rose from his own deep chair and waddled over to her. He seated himself upon an ottoman and shooed Severus back to the kitchen. "M'dear?" 

Hermione nodded and let her body float and pulse in the pleasant companionship of the older man. The way his fingers trembled upon the soft fabric of her taut stomach, it made her feel both pleased and sad. Mostly pleased, but there was just a hint of melancholy in the way he approached her, as if he knew quite well that the mitigating factor here was Severus, and that without Severus, Horace wouldn't have the opportunity to be as close to Hermione as he was. 

It felt a bit unfair of her to lead him on in this way, but it seemed that the pleasure he derived from the encounter did him more good than the knowledge of its limitations did him pain. And besides, he was an adult, after all - if he objected to her acquiescence, he could withdraw his attentions at any time. 

Indeed, there seemed no reason to stop him, given she was enjoying the way his practiced hands teased the membranes of her inner organs. He was quite good at easing the overstuffed, bloated feeling that precluded her from eating any more. In fact, her stomach made a little rumble or two as he released a bit of trapped gas, and she hurriedly put a hand to cover her mouth. 

"No need to be ashamed, m'dear," Horace said sweetly, and he took her left hand and planted an endearing kiss upon it. "A little noise does a body good. 'Tis quite healthy, you know." 

Feeling heat rise to her cheeks, Hermione nodded. She didn't like her stomach making noises for Horace - it was an experience she liked to share with Severus, but she did not care to be quite so casual with the other man. 

She was saved from answering by Severus' announcement, "So Horace, I hope this will satisfy your cravings for sweet young things." 

"I anticipate it'll only amplify it, m'boy," the old man answered, patting Hermione's tum fondly and retreating to the table. "Weren't we just talking about this last week?" 

"You think I don't remember?" Severus responded, his smirk palpable even through just his voice. Hermione turned her head to regard the two large men. 

It was so strange, to see them side by side like they were, staring at each other and drinking in each others' visages. Severus with his top-heavy apple-shaped softness, his trunklike legs supporting his heavy body with understated elegance. Horace with his utter massiveness, with countless rolls and squishy parts, and a waist of ridiculous diameter. 

The two of them looked at each other - Severus in a loose-fitting button-down shirt left untucked, and Horace in his traditional well-tailored tweeds. And their hands joined together in an expression of genuine warmth and affection. And as Hermione watched, the men kissed here, Severus arching his neck to reach the more squat Slughorn. The moment was not short, and indeed as Hermione watched in fascination, she realized she was quickly becoming an unnecessary third wheel. 

She watched as Severus' hand snaked around Horace's waist, pulling the large man closer and closer to him despite their competing mass. And Severus' eyes closed in an expression of blissful finality, as if he were saying to himself, here I am, at long last, now I can be at peace. 

She couldn't see Horace's face at that moment, but she could imagine that he looked somewhat the same way. 

It made her feel quite left out, so she retreated to the bedroom to retrieve the few belongings she'd left there. She wasn't disappointed, per se, but she knew better than to think that the boys needed her cramping their stle right now.


	102. let me slytherin to your heart

"I.. apologize, Hermione," Severus said, twisting his hands with an uncharacteristic expression of worry. 

"What?" Hermione said, blinking against the brightness of her living room. Crookshanks mewed from beneath her, and she felt the creature slip out between her feet and rush to the kitchen. 

Seeing her kit was hungry, she pulled her robe tighter and followed the kneazle into the main room, where Severus offered her an embrace. She accepted it, a bit bleary-eyed with fatigue. 

"What are you apologizing for?" she asked, as Severus then shrugged away from her and hastened to the kitchen, where he took the bag of dry kneazle vittles and poured them into the creature's bowl. Seeing as her pet caretaking task was complete, Hermione seated herself at the kitchen table and poured herself a mug of tea. Severus quickly joined her. His hands were still kneading each other with needless concern. 

"I didn't mean to ignore you so profoundly, last night," Severus went on, pouring himself some tea as well. "It was the height of rudeness. I swear it won't happen again." 

"I hope not," Hermione said, frowning. Then corrected herself. "I mean, wasn't that the point? It was your night with Horace. You didn't do anything wrong. What are you on about?" 

"Really?" he asked, and his eyes were wide with a sense of timid relief - he seemed unwilling to commit to believing her. "Are you sure?" 

"Entirely," Hermione said, pasting a smile on her face. "Why, I've spent enough nights alone with just Neville, in the past. And, you know, theoretically, we like spending a night or two to ourselves, right?" 

Though, truth be told, as the tea warmed her up, she realized that this wasn't entirely true. It was a blessing to be able to spread out across the bed, for once, but other than that, she missed him dreadfully that night. She'd kept herself up late all night, doing a literature review for their first collaborative article. It was unnecessarily thorough as a result of her feeling dejected, and in retrospect she was irritated at the amount of useless fidgety work she'd completed. 

In short, she'd missed her partner, and she found herself wishing they shared a flat - that way when he and Horace were done with whatever they were doing, she could come and snuggle with Severus in between the large older man and herself. 

It was getting a bit redundant, to have two flats between the two of them. Hermione certainly wouldn't mind giving up her shabby quarters in order to share Severus' much more elegant ones. 

"I missed you, though," Severus said softly, echoing her own thoughts. "I confess that... erm... my sleep was affected," he said, his voice getting even lower. "I've been laying and staring at the ceiling for hours." 

"What time is it, even?" Hermione asked, squinting towards the clock on the wall, just out of sight. 

"Just after seven," he said, sheepish and refusing to make eye contact. 

"Thanks, I've had about two hours' worth of sleep myself," Hermione grumbled, and then she realized something. "Is Horace still asleep?" 

"Yes," Severus said, and he reached out his hand to her. "Snoring peacefully." 

Hermione chuckled and shook her head. "I daresay it'd be rude for him to wake up alone." 

"Are you sure?" Severus asked, trying to read Hermione's thoughts the old-fashioned way. 

"Of course," she said, and smiled and squeezed his hand. "Besides, I think I might come along." 

The smile in Severus' eyes echoed the half-smile on his lips, and Hermione followed sleepily as he dragged her out of the flat, still holding their mugs of tea, leaving Crookshanks to eat his breakfast in peace. 

................ 

"I could use your insight, Horace," Severus said as the men shared a lazy brunch. They'd left Hermione dozing in the bedroom, snuggled against a pillow that they'd substituted for Severus. Severus poured orange juice and strong tea for them both. "I don't know what I'm looking for, with this whole affair for Graham Plopp." 

"What did he ask you to look for, exactly?" Horace mused, munching on a corner of jellied toast. He looked much refreshed from yesterday; Severus couldn't swear it, but the man seemed a bit less wrinkly and a bit more bright of mood. There was a bit of a healthy glow about him, which wasn't normally there. 

Severus liked to see how the older man seemed to have a more voracious appetite, too - Horace had too delicate an approach to eating last night's dinner. Breakfast was proving more in line with Severus' expectations of such a rotund lover. Horace had put away nearly a full loaf of toasted bread, all of it heavily frosted with butter and jellies. Not to mention a heaping plateful of eggs and sausage. 

To tell the truth, Horace had looked a bit wan yesterday, and last week as well, but whatever ailed him seemed gone today. He had a jovial spirit that was much more confident, and it made Severus horny to see the old man so fresh-faced and cheerful. 

"He has suggested that there might be a crowd of people still in mind of Old Ways," Severus said, smiling grimly. "I wish it was a baseless, paranoid idea - but this *is* the world that Albus built." 

"Hear, hear," Horace agreed, sipping his coffee thoughtfully. "I cannot pretend to believe in the inherent goodness of humanity, not after living through two Dumblewars." 

"Is that what they've taken to calling them?" Severus asked, quirking an amused eyebrow. 

"Oh no, m'boy, that's just my private epithet." Horace smiled into his cup, and then laid it down on the table again, and dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "I hope you don't find it overly offensive." 

"Not at all," Severus said, and eased himself back onto his chair and squeezed his stomach back under the table. "I resent the old bird's meddlings more than anyone." 

"Do you consider the orchestration of such monstrous conflict to be mere meddling?" Horace asked, seeming painfully curious. 

Severus shook his head, and sighed. "You're right. He preferred we think it innocent, good-intentioned meddling. I think he thought it was nothing more than that. But the power he yielded eroded him far more than he ever recognized, I think. At least until it was too late." 

The two Slytherins shook their heads. They'd never be caught dead, either of them, wielding as much power as Dumbledore did, for so long. For many reasons, but not the least of which was that such power wasn't safe. Only a Gryffindor would be so brave - and so conceited as to think he could bear that weight for so long, without ever sharing it. 

"But to return to my point," Severus went on, feeling reluctant to eat due to his internal disquiet. "Lasalle didn't learn much at Plopp's Equinox ball. Just the terrified whisperings of people who thought they knew more than they did." 

"Tut tut," Horace summarized, sympathetic. 

"I do have a theory, though," Severus went on, "I think this idea he's got... I think it's a hoax." 

"What leads you to that conclusion?" asked Horace, thoughtfully listening. "And what would such a hoax achieve?" 

"Fear always serves someone," Severus mused, and he poured himself another cup of tea. "It always starts with one source, then is expanded to generalize more greatly." 

"So history leads us to observe," concurred Horace.

"So what is the object being feared, here?" Severus asked himself aloud. "At this time, Plopp's concern is representative of a fear permeating in the upper echelons of society. The question is, has it started there, or is it something that's bled through other factions of society?" 

"As far as the Muggle government is concerned, labor is in power, and the economy is growing," Horace observed. "I believe a large part of the anxiety that contributed towards Tom's rise the first time was a side effect of the stuttering Muggle economy in the sixties and seventies." 

"You really think there's a relationship?" Severus asked, his eyes widening. 

"I think it's safe to say there's more of a relationship between our worlds than most wizards would admit," Horace said softly. "Truth be told, m'boy, I've been a fly on the wall for many a strange conversation that I had no business overhearing." 

"By accident?" Severus asked, feeling a trifle overcurious. 

"Well, perhaps not *quite* by accident; Albus did have his little requests from time to time," Horace said, and smiled wanly. "I was happy to help in any way I could." 

"You and I, both," Severus sneered into his teacup, but Horace was growing wise to Severus' morbid moments. His beatific smile indicated that he knew Severus wasn't cross at him. 

It frankly made Severus *furious* to see that Horace had been so blatantly used by Dumbledore for his own power-hungry purposes. 

"Don't get riled up on my account, m'boy," Horace added, and he extended a hand towards Severus' own. The sour-faced young man let his tense fingers crawl into Horace's soft palm, and Horace closed over him like a Venus flytrap. "I knew what I was getting myself into. Unlike a certain broken-hearted young man I knew." 

Severus winced, and glanced up at Horace with a pained glare. 

"No one told me anything specific, if that's what you're thinking," Horace added, and murmured, "I put together the pieces myself. It wasn't too hard for your old teacher to realize that your path was laid out before you agreed to the destination." 

He patted Severus' hand in a comforting motion. "Again, I'm so sorry that I didn't have the courage to do something about it then. I let myself believe you consented to far more than I think you ever could have. Albus treated you shamefully, m'boy, and it was a more perverse buggery than even yours truly could imagine." 

"How is it we keep coming back here?" Severus said with a frown, "I don't blame you one whit. I blame myself." 

"The classic picture of a man who can't admit he's been abused," Horace said sadly, his voice profound and caring. "I can't blame you, of course. For blaming yourself, I mean." 

He sighed. "If it makes it easier to think you had a choice in the matter, in whatever it was that you did for him, I'll let it go. But anyone who was a student of human nature could see he had you as thoroughly trapped as a fly to sticky paper." 

"It wasn't his fault," Severus admitted, "He had no other choice." Though his tone of voice gave away how little he believed this was true. 

"Yes, he did," Horace said, firmly, "and he chose to have children fight his own fights on his behalf. He didn't let you grow up, Severus," he added, more softly, "out of his own selfish desire not to grow up himself He exploited your natural human instincts. You wanted to be loved, you wanted to have approval, you wanted to be forgiven for all of your imaginary flaws. He took advantage, and it wasn't fair." 

This left Severus reeling, and he leaned back in his chair. It was very difficult not to storm out of the room right now, not to scream that Horace had no *idea* what he was talking about, not to act like a bratty teenager who had so much blinding angst in his heart. 

A good part of what kept him there? Embarrassingly, his big belly was a little bit stuck under the table. Not enough that he couldn't *technically* wiggle out, but enough that he couldn't simply sweep out of the room in a huff. He wouldn't look very dignified, scraping himself out from under the edge, and thus he elected to remain where he was. 

The emotions washed over him though in a tsunami of pain and rage, and in response he leaned forward onto the table and put his head in his hands. It took every ounce of power within him not to cry. 

"It wasn't your fault when you struggled," Horace said, his voice so soothing and remarkably sensitive. He rose from his more accessible chair, and he moved much closer to Severus. He put his hands on the table where Severus could easily reach them. 

"And it wasn't your fault when you failed. You never were supposed to fight so hard, so long, so fruitlessly. And you never were supposed to remain in perpetual limbo, as with a stasis charm, while the world briefly hung its hat and waited for the other shoe to drop. 

"You were extraordinary, Severus," Horace went on, "And Albus never once seemed to think you were in any real danger. His confidence in you never wavered. There were meetings I was at, things that I heard. Everyone would wonder if you'd even survive what he wanted from you." 

"I wondered, too," Severus admitted, not looking up, still hiding his face with his hair. "I actually think he thought I was disposable, and since I kept turning up like a bad penny, he got used to me being nearly invinceable. But the truth was, I was just too stubborn. I had to prove him wrong." 

"You aren't a bad penny," Horace whispered, and hesitantly he pressed a kiss on Severus' cheek - hidden though it was beneath a heavy mane of thick black hair. "I am so glad you proved him wrong. But I don't think he saw you as disposable," Horace added, "I think he was more scared of losing you than you were scared of death. 

"And I think he intentionally tried to goad you into living another day out of bitterness and resentment. Because, my poor boy, he could tell that was the only way he would convince you to keep on living, when you so clearly wanted to end your misery." 

So saying, he added, whispering into Severus' ear: "I saw him in moments you didn't - that you couldn't. You were never his *peer,* at least in his eyes. Unfortunately, at some moments, I *was.*" 

He paused for effect. "It was terrifying to see him completely vulnerable. I didn't want to see it, but there it was." 

Severus abruptly sat up, almost bumping Horace's chin. "You fucked him," he said, his face blank and expressionless. "You loved him?"

"In a way," Horace sighed, and went on, "It was never a routine kind of love. Always on-again, off-again with Albus. Sometimes he was as marvelous as the moon..." 

He gestured sadly, and finished, "...And sometimes he just didn't have anything to work with. We developed a sense of humor about it, actually," he went on, "We were always good at sexual conversation, but never managed to finish closing the loop. He always had too much on his mind, to really be with me in the ways I wanted." 

"That's so sad," Severus mused, his anger evaporated into fascination. "I always wondered if he'd managed to have some kind of sex life." 

Horace raised his fuzzy eyebrows in interest, and Severus patted Horace's hand and glared. "NOT in that way. If he had thoughts about me, he never said anything. And I never was interested in him. I just felt like there was so much happening beneath the surface - I wished I had some clue of what made him really tick." 

"I think everyone who knew him wanted to know what he kept in that massive overcluttered brain of his," Horace reflected. "But I think Albus never really was organized with his thoughts in the way that, perhaps, you and I are. I think that perpetual busy affect was a front for his utter emptiness - the only way that he could hide the circling vortex of his personality. 

"For," Horace went on, "even though I was one man who knew what made him squeal, what names he cried out in the midst of a nightmare, and what name came to the tip of his tongue when he fucked... none of this really helped me understand him better." 

So saying, Horace closed his eyes and sat back in his own chair. 

"I don't know if your telling me this makes me feel any better," Severus said, taking the opportunity to offer his own form of comfort - he extended his foot and hooked it behind Horace's slippered ankle. His loafer slipped off, and his thick woolen sock massaged against Horace's exposed upper ankle. 

"I didn't expect it to," Horace responded, taking another sip of his coffee. "But you seem to have stabilized again." 

Severus shrugged, and downed the rest of his tea in a fierce gulp, in lieu of saying anything. 

"I'm no stranger to these kinds of terrors," Horace went on, his fingers fluttering over Severus' hand, draping over the other man's fingers that so fiercely held onto the handle of the empty tea mug. "I have sat through too many exhausting nights with Irma and Poppy, or Irma and Rolanda, or Irma and just myself. Let me assure you, m'boy, you're nowhere near as neurotic as the poor witch." 

"Perhaps not," Severus mused darkly, but he reciprocated Horace's kindly gesture. "But I don't know why, in heaven's name." 

"You have the advantage of mixed breeding," Horace said thoughtfully. "The Pince family's health conditions are notorious. She's the last of them, and for good reason - can you imagine her bearing a child without it killing the poor woman?" 

"I have half a mind that she might sprain her wrist under the weight of a biscuit," Severus snarked. He was aware that this was mean-spirited commentary on his part, but there was much of him that still delighted in a little bit of cruelty when it didn't actually hurt anyone. 

This made Horace chuckle to himself. "I can't say that hasn't happened." 

And then he extended an arm to embrace Severus. Severus, hesitantly but affectionately, leaned into Horace's shoulder, and the two men basked in the slight glow of the cloudy sunshine streaming through the window. 

"But back to my main point," Severus mused, his appetite returning after this key change, and he laid out a hearty serving of eggs and sausage for himself. Helpfully, he added another ladle of eggs onto Horace's plate too, and the older man simply looked up and winked at the pleasant implication. "I think there's a lot less Death Eater activity than certain minds would have us believe. It certainly seems more plausible than the idea we are awaiting a third tide of violence and strife."

"The question is," Horace contributed, "Is the possibility one that is intended to be a hoax, or is it simply a delusion." 

"Meaning," Severus extrapolated, "There's someone or someones out there orchestrating this. And the question is, is this someone out there thinking he's pretending to start a movement, or is this someone out there thinking he actually *is* starting a movement?" 

"My bet is on a delusion," Horace said a bit sadly. 

"But it might very well be an intentional hoax," Severus added persuasively. 

"So what do you think Graham's role is in all this?" Horace asked, taking a healthy stab at the serving plate of sausages and lavishing them upon his plate. 

"I think he's of the mind, 'fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me, fool me thrice, shame on both of us,'" Severus suggested, pouring more tea for them both. 

"That sounds practical," Horace observed, stirring a generous amount of sugar into his tea, then doing the same for Severus. 

Throughout, while they spoke, they kept up a silent tea-making dialogue - sugar? cream? more cream? more sugar? even more sugar? - as Horace tried to figure out how to make Severus' ideal cup of tea. Horace's preferred tea was much more milky than Severus', and Severus' was far heavier on the sugar. Strange, how their teas counterbalanced their personalities, Severus thought with a smile as Horace pushed the completed tea across the table to Severus' waiting hand. 

"Yes," Severus mused, taking a sip and nodding in approval. Horace beamed with satisfaction, watching Severus' face attentively. "I think Graham simply wants to clarify he has no role in this little scheme, or at least make it seem as if he has no role in this scheme. He insists on me being a witness to this development because I have a unique level of credibility - he needs me for my role as former Death Eater to blend in, but he needs me more for my role as a confirmed and relatively trustworthy member of the light. That's why he insists on ignoring when I protest my innocence - he wants me to downplay my innocence as I proceed in my investigations, since he wants me traveling on the thinnest edge of the knife." 

"You don't need to do this, m'boy," Horace said, his face drained of color and incredibly serious. "You've risked your hide enough for the world, for one lifetime." 

Severus chuckled bitterly. "But yet here I am. There is clearly some part of me that can't help but embrace this, Horace. If I truly didn't want this, do you think Lasalle would have made a return to the fashionable English wizarding society?" 

"You don't have to do this," Horace pleaded, and there was a sense of despair and heartbrokenness in his eyes. 

"I feel like I want to," Severus responded, his gaze intensifying. "I've been missing this kind of life, in some ways." He leaned his head closer towards Slughorn's, and he added in a lower voice, "I feel that this period of lazy indolence has gone on long enough. The adrenaline in my veins is exciting; all my senses are heightened in ways that I've missed... dreadfully." 

So saying, he pressed an intense kiss upon Horace's lips, imbuing all the meaning he possibly could into the gesture. He pulled away gasping for breath, and Horace seemed shocked, his eyes wide and his mouth round. 

"Is that a problem for you?" Severus asked, searching desperately for approval in Horace's eyes. 

And slowly, creakingly, Horace gave a nod of his head. 

"It is," Horace said softly, sadly - but determinedly. And he added, "At least it is if you think I'm going to let you soldier on alone." 

"I've got Hermione," Severus said, but this was a feeble response indeed. Horace's sharp eyes focused on Severus for several intense, heated moments, and Severus sighed as his bluff was called. "Oh, who am I kidding. Hermione, for all her loveliness, doesn't know how to play these kinds of games." 

"Certainly not compared to yours truly," Horace said with a triumphant smirk. "I think you need that kind of magical woman in your life, Severus. Don't get me wrong at all. But she is so dreadfully earnest. It isn't always in line with your own strengths." 

"Oh, thanks," Severus grumbled, rolling his eyes. "So now my earnestness is in question?" 

"On the contrary," Horace said, and his sincerity directly reflected Severus' frustration with the topic at hand. "I think your earnestness is a great common factor between you both. But you've learned the Slytherin ways well, m'boy," Horace said, and added with a quirk of his lips, "Even if your heart is rather Gryffindor." 

"I do protest," Severus said, but there was humor in his voice. "I think my cunning is my greatest asset. What could honor the house of Slytherin better than that?" 

"Oh, I believe your protestations are all in order," Horace answered, and he patted Severus' shoulder comfortably. "But I do know that if you were a Gryffindor in Slytherin clothing, you'd be first to lay claim to your cunning." 

"This is getting ridiculous," Severus chuckled lowly. "So are you saying you want to join me in my investigations?" 

"To whatever extent I can be useful," acknowledged Horace, "It seems like in your third wind, it would benefit you to have some company rather than going at it alone." 

"I suppose any protestations I have to offer on the matter are irrelevant," Severus surmised, and smirked knowingly at the older wizard. 

"Effectively," Horace said with a little smile of his own. "I just want to see you live a happier life, Severus. Now my generation is fading away, it's time for you and your age group to take charge of the wizarding world, at long last. I see that I can play a role in helping you to establish your roots here, to set you up for the power you rightfully deserve and want." 

"I don't want power," Severus responded, a streak of anger entering his voice. 

"Not even power over your own life?" Horace asked, and Severus fell silent. "Power isn't a dirty word, Severus. It doesn't have to mean what it meant to a Malfoy, or to Albus. You don't need to have influence over others to embrace your own power." 

The wisdom fell heavily in Severus' ears, and he nodded - reluctant to accept the truth told by his wise Tiresias, but willing to at least let it enter his mind. Then, in an evasive tactic, he diverted: "Now, is it just me, or ought we not have some bacon as well as sausage here?" 

"I believe we could do with a few rashers," Horace agreed, a merry light in his eyes. Quick as a flash, Severus clapped the orders for the elves, and the men sat back to contemplate each other with fresh eyes apiece. 

 

.............   
sorry i don't have good music for this chapter, i've got CASCADA in my head and it's really annoying but not particularly relevant

**Author's Note:**

> please leave comments and reviews! Please! 
> 
> also don't forget about blog with art for this fic. To get there, try putting this in your search bar without the spaces: grow ing - fat molly . tum blr. c o m
> 
> If that doesn't work try the following.  
> a. Search in your favorite search engine for tumblr  
> b. once you've found tumblr, do a search there for the following "growing mollyweisser11"  
> It should be there immediately unless you have enabled safe search / aren't able to see things that aren't NSFW. The blog has explicit imagery and is not appropriate for children.
> 
> If you have time to review it'd be appreciated! A lot of time I post chapters and it feels like no one is reading and it is very demotivating. :( reviews - especially really thoughtful ones - inspire me and make me write faster because it feels like I'm trying to entertain an audience that's really excited to see my updates :)


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